


Une Vie Oubliee (A Life Forgotten)

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers
Genre: Drugged sex and attempted rape/non-con, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-18 03:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5896339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I thank Issa and Ebm36 for verifying that I used the correct French words for my title.<br/>Also, as you know, I don't go into graphic detail on anything that I rate mature. Whether for violence or anything in-between. LOL!</p><p>This is another d'Art in distress stories of course.</p><p>++++</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Three months ago, en route to Paris from Navarre_

Moving at a leisurely pace, d’Artagnan took in the scenery around him while listening to Gael go on about nothing in particular. Zad’s soft snorts, every so often, told d’Artagnan that his horse too enjoyed their surroundings. If only d’Artagnan could get Gael to cease his chattering.

They had accomplished their assignment and were now headed back to the garrison. Oh there had been dissension in the ranks when Captain Treville had informed the inseparables that d’Artagnan was to leave on a mission without them. It didn’t matter that another older Musketeer was to be traveling with him. Oh no, his three friends put up such a fuss that the captain kicked them out of his office shouting at them that Treville was the one in charge of things and not them. It had caused much amusement around the garrison, so much so, that d'Artagnan was clearly embarrassed by it all.

After the embarrassment had passed, anger came next. Up until now d'Artagnan had been under the impression that his friends had faith in him and his abilities. Apparently not, d’Artagnan thought sourly. His face must have reflected his feelings as he caught Gael staring back at him most oddly.

“It sometimes helps to talk to someone else to get a different perspective on matters, d’Artagnan?” Gael waited for the young man to speak, knowing that it never did anyone good to badger someone to death.

“I want an honest opinion from you, Gael,” d’Artagnan contemplated his next words carefully. “I think upon myself as being a more than competent soldier,” he glanced sideways at his comrade, “wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oui,” Gael smiled, “most competent.”

“Having earned my commission I wished my brothers to respect me as an adult and not a petit garcon. Is that so much to ask?” he gazed at Gael, hurt reflected in his brown eyes.

A grin spread across Gael’s craggy features. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who those _brothers_ were. “Cut them some slack,” he said. “They’ve had you to themselves since you were just a wet behind the ears puppy,” he smirked. “Their chick's fallen out of the nest and now they're tending to overreact."

“I guess,” d’Artagnan muttered. “Perhaps they’ll ease up seeing me ride into the garrison without a scratch upon me.” His remark caused the older Musketeer to guffaw loudly. But his companion’s mirth quickly faded as fast as it appeared when suddenly they found themselves surrounded by a band of cut-purses that came at them from all directions. At least nine in total, some on horses and the rest on foot.

Stopping their horses, d’Artagnan and Gael slowly held up their hands for they were clearly outnumbered. It made no sense for them to reach for their own pistols as they would be dead before they even drew their weapons out.

“We have nothing of value for you to take,” Gael spoke out, being the eldest he felt that he should take charge.

“He’s probably right about that,” one man waved his pistol at both men, moving it from one to the other, indicating their uniforms to the rest of his comrades. “They're Musketeers.”

“They don’t get paid much,” another man laughed harshly. “Probably why the king remains so rich.”

“Get off your horses now!” barked a man who held a pistol in each of his hands, leveling them at each Musketeer.

Glancing at each other, d’Artagnan and Gael silently agreed not to cause themselves any more trouble than they already had as they both dismounted.

“I ain’t got any use for Musketeers,” sneered a cut-purse that grabbed the reins of their captive’s horses, leading them toward the forest.

“Oh this is the part I always hate,” Gael moaned low enough for d’Artagnan’s ears alone.

"I guessed as much as soon as they ordered us to dismount," d'Artagnan clamped down tightly on his lips, keeping his mouth firmly shut in case he said something to these men that would worsen their position, if that were even possible.

"Go on," a massively huge looking man urged the Musketeers to move while he leveled his pistol at both soldier's heads, "get walkin'. We ain't got all day."

"D'Artagnan," Gael whispered, "when I say _run_ , you run hell for leather. Understand me?"

"I know what they plan to do with us," d'Artagnan wanted to look behind him at the giant prodding them along. He thought about sizing up his chances and taking him on but decided against it. "So I'm in full agreement."

As soon as the sound of pistols cocking reached the Musketeer's ears, Gael yelled out, " _RUN!"_ He veered off to the right while d'Artagnan went left.

Simultaneously firing their weapons at the running pair, Gael fell first.

Turning around, d'Artagnan watched in horror when his brother went down. He wasn't about to abandon Gael, no matter the older Musketeer's orders. When he ran back toward his fallen comrade to lend aid, d'Artagnan's whole body whirled around from the impact of a musketball to his head. His vision blurred as the sky above him wavered and grew darker. Legs buckling underneath him, d'Artagnan collapsed to the ground. As his sense left him, he could hear the hideous laughter of their attackers.

++++

_Present day - Musketeer garrison_

"Where's Athos?" Aramis shoved his hat back from his head while scouting out the courtyard for signs of his friend.

"Ya don't wanna go pissin' off the man," Porthos shook his head at his brother. "Not if ya value that lovely skin of yours."

Hearing doors slamming above them, both Musketeer's heads shot upward toward Captain Treville's office where they saw a furious Athos charging down the steps. Barely a few seconds went by and then Captain Treville made an appearance on the balcony.

" _ATHOS!_ " Treville bellowed, but he knew his lieutenant had selective hearing when warranted and this was one of those times.

Grabbing Athos by the arm as he stormed past him, Aramis braved his friend's wrath. "Dare I ask why Treville sounds like he's having a bad day?"

"Because I am having an even worse one," Athos nearly snapped Aramis' head off. Shaking his arm loose from the other's grip he ran a shaky hand down his face. "Treville won't let us go back out in search of d'Artagnan any longer."

"Ah," Aramis' dark eyes grew sad. "I don't agree with our captain, but he has stretched the regiment as much as he could in the search for our youngest without the king coming down upon his head."

Rounding on his brother, Athos' anger burned hot. "D'Artagnan could be holed up somewhere gravely injured like Gael was," he fisted his right hand, wanting badly to punch something, or better yet, someone. If Aramis wasn't careful, the sharpshooter's handsome face may yet end up sporting several bruises.

"Gael was lucky those peasants discovered his body when they stopped to rest," Aramis pointed out.

"Yeah," Porthos agreed, "they worked hard stoppin' Gael's leg from bleedin' or we would have buried 'em by now." Porthos remembered that day when a lone wagon rode into the garrison carrying the injured Musketeer. His heart dropped down to the soles of his feet when he realized that their young Gascon hadn't been sitting alongside Gael, giving all of them his cheekiest grin.

"My soul's crying out to me that d'Artagnan needs us," Athos thumped a clenched fist hard upon his chest, " _all_ of us to get him back where he belongs!" he began to choke up. "Or we might as well consider the lad truly lost to us."

++++

_A few miles outside of Navarre_

Awaking under silk covered sheets, d'Artagnan turned toward his companion and placed a kiss upon her bare shoulder. Seeing the woman open sleepy blue eyes and look back at him, he grinned while trailing a finger tantalizingly down her naked back. "Tis a pleasant way to wake up is it not?"

Leaning up on one elbow, she gave the young man a lingering kiss on his lips. "Oui, Richart." Lazily she got up from the bed and, with a seductive smile at her bed partner, crossed the room. She cared not about revealing her total nakedness to Richart's hot gaze, as she approached her dresser and reached out for her peignoir. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Same day, early afternoon - back at the Chateau a few miles outside of Navarre_

The manor house was nestled among a line of trees that gave it protection from prying eyes. As to what went on inside during the, almost nightly, soirees, well let's just say innocents need not attend.

Watching the older woman's movements as Celine crossed the room, d'Artagnan licked his lips, literally eating up her beauty.

Catching that hungry look in the young man's eyes, Celine laughed throatily. "How many times must I warn you, Richart, not to fall in love with me?"

Leaning against the wall, d'Artagnan blew her a kiss. "Who said anything about love?" he chuckled as Celine's eyes widened in surprise. Giving her his most seductive smile he added, "I've fallen in _lust_ with you."

"I'm happy to stand corrected, mon ange," Celine walked over to him and tapped him lightly on one cheek with a slim finger. Taking note on Richart's healing scar that ran from his hairline to wrap around his right ear, she frowned. "Perhaps I should call back my physician to check on your injury once more. It still looks rather painful."

"Non," d'Artagnan was pleased she was worried for him, "I am fine. Just the occasional headache but I can live with that."

"Your memory though," Celine thought back to when her men brought the badly injured man to her home. She had thought he wouldn't last through the night.

"If it returns," he regarded her thoughtfully, "it returns." Brushing her concern for him aside, d'Artagnan shrugged casually. "If not, tis God's will." Then smiling at her he said, "Besides not many get to start their life over again and with a new name too."

"Before the doctor arrived you were briefly coherent but didn't know what you called yourself," Celine brushed Richart's hair back behind his ear so that his scar was exposed to her more fully. "As he tended your injury he explained that such a wound to your head could cause temporary amnesia," she placed a light kiss upon Richart's scar. "So in the meantime I gave you a name that had always appealed to me."

"I'm glad," he slipped his hand around Celine's slim waist and drew her closer. But she gently pushed herself away as d'Artagnan pouted.

Laughing, Celine's blue eyes lit up with amusement. "You do that very well, reminding me of the petit garcon that does errands for me."

Being compared to a child wasn't exactly what d'Artagnan was hoping for so he pretended he had no idea what she was going on about. "Do what exactly?" He noted Celine throw her hands up in the air, exasperated with him.

"Mmmmm," tapping a finger to her chin, Celine then looked back at him with a calculating expression in her eyes. "Think you're interested in participating in tonight's pleasures for a change?"

Understanding what truly went on here, d'Artagnan wasn't pleased about sharing Celine with anyone else but this was her house and her rules and he would abide by them no matter how much they went against the grain. D'Artagnan was, after all, a total stranger to her and to himself and he would be the last person to tell Celine how to live her life. But actively taking part in the intimate games that were held here left him uncomfortable. Though his memory was gone d'Artagnan instinctively knew that this wasn't the type of person he was.

Seeing that it was taking a long time for the young man to answer, Celine waved her hand at him. "Forgive me for asking that," she walked over to her butler who had just entered the room with a letter for her, "just enjoy yourself." Then she picked up the missive from the tray her man carried and began to read its contents, effectively dismissing Richart from her mind.

++++

_Paris - Athos' apartments_

Standing to one side of the room were Aramis and Porthos as they watched Athos carefully pack clothing for a journey.

"Say again why we ain't goin' with ya ta find d'Art?" Porthos folded his arms and waited for a good reason to be left behind.

"I had no other recourse and gave Treville little choice in the matter," Athos finished placing the remainder of his clothes in the satchels that were on the bed. Turning around he faced his brothers and braced himself for their displeasure. "I told the captain I was taking a well deserved leave of absence to look for d'Artagnan."

"Tis long overdue to you, mon frere," Aramis agreed with his brother but knew there was more left unsaid.

"Treville told me he couldn't spare you and Porthos to come along." Athos noted the fire burning in Porthos' dark eyes. "Do not go against his wishes," he warned quietly. "I would like to find both of you are still Musketeers when d'Artagnan and I return."

"You sound positive that will happen." Aramis and Athos had been dancing around this issue since their youngest disappeared three months ago. He hated to bring it up but it had to be said.

"Gentlemen," Athos threw his satchels over his shoulders, "if I do not find our youngest I won't be coming back."

That remark had startled both Porthos and Aramis to the point that they were of the same mind in keeping Athos from leaving. But the steely glint in their leader's blue eyes prevented them from tackling him. It went without saying that they would have a mighty fight on their hands getting Athos to stay.

"Why'd ya need those fancy duds of yours I saw ya packin'?"

"One never knows where one will find themselves, Porthos," Athos smirked. " _Be prepared_ has always been my motto." Passing by the men, Athos tossed over his shoulder, "If for some reason I cannot bring d'Artagnan back right away I will send word to Treville."

"Shouldn't take ya long ta get ta Navarre."

Nodding his head at Porthos, Aramis agreed. "Tis only a matter of five days from Paris," making a sign of the cross he kissed his crucifix. "With God's help Athos will find our missing pup and all will be well again."

"I haven't had time to inform Gael of my plans," Athos said. "Tell him for me where I've gone and why." He knew very well that if he confronted Gael, despite the slow progress of the other Musketeer's grievous injury, Gael would have wanted to go along. After Athos left his apartment and friends behind, with grim determination in every step he took, he headed for the stables.

++++

_Early evening - back at the chateau_

"Ma cherie Madame Celine," Comte Tierri du Mesnil took the hand of his hostess and placed a kiss upon it," always a pleasure to be invited to one of your soirees."

"Tis always a delight to see you, Tierri," Celine purred. Feeling a heated gaze on her back, she glanced over to where Richart was standing talking to one of her other guests. Celine didn't miss the flash of jealousy that was in her young lover's eyes. Leaving the comte to find his own amusements, Celine was about to join Richart when she ran into another patron.

"Celine, I swear you grow more lovely each time I see you," Robert le Hongre kissed his fingertips. "Je t'adore!"

As he kissed her cheek, Celine gave him a coquettish look from beneath her lashes and pushed Robert toward another woman who had been trying to gain his attention. Celine and Robert had, at one time, been an item. Nowadays they remained just good friends who loved to flirt with one another.

Once again her eyes sought out Richart's whereabouts. His position had moved and he was now standing alone near the fireplace where he could take in the whole room at a glance. Something bothered her about the way Richart observed the proceedings, setting himself apart from the rest. It probably was her imagination working overtime but for a moment there his stance and watchful gaze reminded her of how Celine's deceased husband, Eric, had acted. Ever the soldier, her husband had that same look when sizing up their guests whenever they entertained.

Thankfully those days were in the past. Since Eric's death, from an old injury sustained in service to his country, Celine had been left this house along with his fortune. She counted herself lucky that nowadays Celine could enjoy herself as she pleased without worries. Turning her home into a brothel of sorts appealed to her on nearly every level. Celine catered to all types of appetites for both men and women. Oh she didn't really need the money which is why Celine charged only a small fee so that her clients could indulge in their fantasies. Going back to her roots as a former Madame, before she had met her husband, was the easiest transition Celine could have ever made.

Sauntering up to her, d'Artagnan breathed in Celine's scent as he bent his head to whisper in her ear. "Quite the party tonight." He found her attractive most of the time but this evening Celine shined. After he had recovered somewhat from his injury they had talked upon many things. One such topic was the differences in their ages for there was one, as it was quite evident to each of them. Not having any memories to fall back on d'Artagnan left it up to Celine who said that she was pretty good at summing people up. She had guessed that there was at least a ten year age gap between them. Being with an older woman appealed to something inside d'Artagnan. It certainly didn't hold him back from having a relationship with her or Celine with him. Trying to further said relationship had been trying at best but he persisted. Some inner knowledge told him that stubbornness was not a new trait for himself. Seeing then another woman approach Celine, d'Artagnan stepped aside for the moment.

"Celine," Francine Des-prez cooed, grabbing the other woman by the arm, "who is this delectable young specimen of manhood you've been keeping to yourself?"

"He met with an unfortunate accident a few months past, and he has lost all his memories," Celine explained, sharing a quiet look with Richart over Francine's small stature.

"But what do you call him?" Francine glanced into the young man's amused eyes. He apparently was content to let Celine do all the talking for him.

"Richart," Celine was equally amused by their conversation.

Tilting her head to the side, Francine studied the silent man. "It suits him." Giving Richart a saucy wink she tucked her arm into his own, leading him away. "Let's get better acquainted, handsome." Taking him over to the buvette she gave Celine a little wave in farewell.

Making his way back over to Celine, Tierri tapped her on the shoulder. "You may have lost your young friend for the evening."

Chuckling, Celine shook her head. "His memories may be gone but Richart isn't dead."

++++

_Five days later - Navarre_

During his journey, Athos had made several stops questioning people who lived in some of the smaller towns and villages along the way. He prayed that somehow d'Artagnan managed to get some help if he were badly injured. Athos refused for there to be any other outcome as to why his youngest brother hadn't come back home to him.

Entering Navarre Athos eventually found an inn to stay at. When he registered, Athos questioned the proprietor of d'Artagnan's possible whereabouts. He then discovered some interesting information concerning a young man with no memories being cared for at a certain chateau not too far from the city. Perhaps it was time for Athos to put on those _fancy duds_ Porthos referred to and paid Madame LaVigne's Maison Close a visit.


	3. Chapter 3

_Same day Athos arrived in Navarre – early evening_

Realizing that if he wanted his charade to appear real, Athos had hired out a coach for the night. Arriving in style he figured would cement the lies Athos was about to tell. Arriving at the secluded chateau, he could see that it was lit up from top to bottom. It would seem that that one of Madame LaVigne's soirees was in full swing. When his carriage stopped Athos waited for the coachman to open the door. Straightening his attire he walked toward the main entrance. Counting on his aristocratic roots to get him through this, Athos rapped on the door.

Reynard had been in service as a trusted butler to Madame Celine for many years. He was used to turning a blind eye to what went on inside this house. Admitting or throwing out strangers was part of his job description. With a bland look on his face Reynard held out his gloved hand and waited for the gentleman to give him the invitation that Madame issues. He hoped this wouldn't be one of those times that he would have to throw someone out.

This was the part that was going to be tricky. According to the proprietor at the inn where Athos was staying, one needed an invitation to attend Madame’s gatherings. Lying through his teeth, he attempted to crash this one. “I am a stranger to these parts and was told of Madame LaVigne’s soirees.” The butler hadn’t batted one eyelid as Athos talked to him. So he wasn’t sure if he was getting through to the man. “I am the Comte de la Fere and was hoping to fall on Madame’s charity to see if she would welcome me inside anyway.”

At first Reynard expected to hear a tale of lies since the man did not have an invitation but eyeing the way the comte was dressed  he took him at his word. “Remain here and I will approach Madame with your request.”

“My thanks,” Athos stood just inside the doorway and could hear the sounds of soft music in the background along with voices of Madame’s varied guests. All he wanted to do was charge inside, find d’Artagnan and leave as soon as possible. But all of that depended on his admittance to this party. Relief filled him at the sight of the butler coming back.

“Madame LaVigne has graciously consented for Monsieur to join her.” Reynard waved the comte inside and led him to where the other guests were enjoying themselves.

When Athos stepped inside the main room, almost instantly he spotted a beautiful woman surrounded by a group of men and women. He noted the moment when her eyes met his as she excused herself and came directly toward him. This must be Madame Celine he thought. Her looks were exceptional. Athos could easily see why men were caught under her spell.

Smiling, Celine glided over to her visitor. “Bonjour, Monsieur,” she waited as he placed a kiss upon her hand. “I understand you are not from these parts.”

“I have been enjoying my travels and Navarre was but one of many stops for me.” Then he slapped the palm of his hand to his forehead. “But how remiss of me in forgetting my manners,” Athos said. “I am the Comte de la Fere,” he bowed his head. “Olivier to my friends.”

“And you may call me Celine,” she touched him lightly on the arm. “I am very glad to make your acquaintance and admit you to my party,” her blue eyes sparkled. “Seeing that you are a comte,” she gave a tinkle of laughter, “how would it have sounded to others hearing that I turned one such as you away?”

“I would think your friends would gain much amusement from it if you had,” Athos’ tone was dry yet his remark caused his hostess a bit of amusement.

Celine was never one to let a handsome man slip through her fingers and this one deserved looking at more than once. Hatless, Olivier’s wavy hair fell to just above his shoulders. He wore a long burgundy coat over snug fitting black pants topped with knee high, black leather boots. She could tell that his white, ruffled shirt was made of the finest material, complimented by a cravat around his neck. A man of definite means Celine noted and one that she would keep her eyes on. Olivier definitely cut a striking figure but still none so striking as her Richart. “But come,” Celine took him by the arm, “where are my manners now leaving you standing here?” She lead him over to a group of her friends.

As he began to make small talk with a few gentlemen, Athos gazed was caught and held by a slim figure with his back to Athos. The gentleman was conversing with a petite female that was making like a blanket as she draped herself all over the man. Something kept Athos' attention riveted on the unknown person's back as he silently willed that figure to turn around. When Athos got his wish, his breath caught in his throat for it was none other than his lost sheep... d'Artagnan. Wanting to leap for joy and crush the lad in his arms, Athos instead had to contain his emotions while making excuses to the group he was talking with. Casually, Athos made his way over to where his younger brother stood. On purpose he stumbled into d'Artagnan. "Apologies for my clumsiness."

Turning his head to the side, d'Artagnan stared into the other gentleman's blue eyes. "No harm done, Monsieur."

His elation at finally locating their lost pup diminished somewhat as d'Artagnan stared blankly back at him. Not a single indication that he recognized Athos was there for him to see. So after introducing himself he said, "But please just call me Olivier." He noted the angry looking scar d'Artagnan had acquired and could well understand his brother's memory loss. Athos would just have to bide his time, earn Madame Celine's trust and pray she'd extend him the courtesy of other invitations to her home. Otherwise how could Athos manage to stay close to his pup so he could try and jog d'Artagnan's memories.

"Celine's kindly dubbed me Richart," d'Artagnan smirked and shook his head, "at least until I can recall my own name again." Then he proceeded to explain to Olivier what had brought him to be staying here.

"You remember nothing at all?" Athos asked. "Not even how you got injured?"

"I draw a blank whenever I try," d'Artagnan laughed without mirth. "All I end up doing is giving myself the damnest headache."

"Perhaps tis best you do not strain yourself then," Athos remarked.

"You sound just like the doctor who tended me," d'Artagnan huffed and rolled his eyes. Then he was startled at the sudden sadness that crept into Olivier's eyes.

Knowing he should shake off his reaction at the simple eyeroll, Athos found it difficult to accomplish. It was such a typical thing for his d'Artagnan to do that it caught him by complete surprise.

"Are you all right?" d'Artagnan was puzzled at the other man's reaction.

"You just reminded me of an old friend who I now find myself missing," Athos shrugged to make light of it.

"I hope this _old friend_ of yours is alive and well. You just looked so sad right now." And just then d'Artagnan felt a sharp stab of pain in his head. It felt like a past memory was finally trying to resurface and work its way out but when d'Artagnan tried to hold onto it the memory slid away.

Seeing d'Artagnan raise a hand to touch his temple and then grimace in discomfort, Athos' reacted automatically. He grasped the young man's arm with one hand and placed his other on d'Artagnan's shoulder. "One step at a time, eh?"

Smiling into the older man's kind eyes, d'Artagnan snorted. "In other words don't try so hard." He didn't know what it was about this man but d'Artagnan felt comfortable with him. "I think I've had enough night life for the moment and will turn in," he extended his hand for Olivier to shake. Before they parted company d'Artagnan said, "I hope I will see you again."

"If Madame Celine will keep extending me invitations to her soirees," Athos chuckled, "then you will indeed." He watched d'Artagnan walk away from him and found himself not wanting to let the lad out of his sight yet. One thing Athos knew he would do as soon as he returned to the inn was find someone he could send a missive with to the garrison. Aramis, Porthos and Captain Treville needed to know that he had found d'Artagnan alive. Not quite whole as Athos would have wanted but at this point he'd take what he could get.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See notes at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Same evening - Maison Casanova (the inn where Athos is staying)_

Having spent several more hours at Madame Celine’s, Athos finally bade his farewells to his hostess and left for the inn. If it had been up to him, he would have left immediately after d’Artagnan had retired for the night, but Athos had to make it look good for himself since he had begged nicely to be admitted to the party in the first place.

Removing his coat first, the cravat came next, leaving Athos in his billowing shirt open downed to the waist exposing a good amount of dark, curly chest hair. Struggling out of his boots, Athos smirked to himself. If Chantal, the woman who had monopolized a good deal of his time tonight could see him now, he would have feared for his virtue.

Finally free of his cumbersome clothing, Athos sat down at a desk that was in his room. Quickly he put pen to paper and wrote a letter to Captain Treville informing him that he had found d’Artagnan alive and for the most part well. Then he went on to write about the lad’s injury and lack of memory. Adding to that, Athos told the captain that he would still handle this alone. With their youngest's memories gone he didn’t want too many people around d’Artagnan all trying to badger their pup into remembering his past.

Setting the missive to the side, Athos got up and went over to the closet. Shedding the rest of his clothes he shrugged into a long nightshirt. Crawling into bed Athos thought upon tomorrow. He would first find someone to take the missive to Treville and as for the rest of the day, Athos would have to kill time until evening came.

Before Athos had left Celine's, she had given him an open invitation to attend her soirees as long as he was still in the city. Knowing they were held nearly every night, Athos would be dogging her doorstep until he brought d'Artagnan home where he belonged.

++++

_Even later the same evening - back at the chateau_

It had been quite a few hours since d'Artagnan had gone to bed but a light touch on his shoulder woke him up. His sleepy eyes slowly opened up to encounter the blue irises of Celine.

Trailing fingertips of one hand down Richart's bare chest, Celine held a glass of wine in her other. "Mmmmm, mon beau," she purred. "Up for a little fun?"

Still half asleep, d'Artagnan managed to sit up letting the bedsheets slip down to his waist as he accepted the glass of wine Celine offered him. Then, after draining its contents, handing it back to her he grinned. "Oui," d'Artagnan, now fully awake, pulled her delicious body toward him but as soon as he did he was overcome with dizziness.

"Ah, mon cher," Celine placed a kiss on the tip of his ear, "I have a pleasant surprise for you," she whispered.

The dizziness d'Artagnan felt left as quickly as it came and, thinking upon Celine's words, he thought she was entertaining the idea of playing one of her more interesting type of games with him. Folding his hands behind his head, d'Artagnan leaned more fully against the headboard and waited. But then he was unprepared for what Celine did next when she got up from the bed to open the door. Giggling, she blew him a kiss as Celine made her exit while another woman brushed past her to enter his room.

"Bonjour, mon amour," Francine Des-prez boldly approached Richart's bed, clad only in a full length red slip. "Remember when we met?"

"Of course," d'Artagnan bobbed his head. "A few weeks ago you attended one of Celine's parties as well as tonight's." He was very confused and, along with that, his head felt stuffed with cotton wool which left him wondering what Celine had put in that drink.

Chuckling, Francine sat on the edge of his bed, letting her hands slide up and down Richart's warm body. "I coerced Celine into changing places with her," bending over him she placed a kiss on his chest. "I hope you don't mind," but the look she gave Richart told the young man that Francine didn't care if he did put up a protest.

The drug quickly worked its way through his system and as it did d'Artagnan's natural inhibitions fled. Exchanging one bed partner for another now didn't bother him in the slightest. He tugged on Francine's arm, making her fall lengthwise against his own frame. "Tis the best offer I've had all day."

++++

_Next Morning, breakfast nook_

"That was a damn dirty trick you pulled on me last night, Celine!" d'Artagnan complained at breakfast. He nursed another headache thanks to that drug she gave him.

With one elbow on the table, Celine sighed and placed her chin on a hand studying the angry young face before her. "Tu es tres beau," she took a sip of her tomato juice and smacked her lips together, "especially when you are mad."

"Don't change the subject!" d'Artagnan snapped. "Damn it, Celine! You drugged me and I had sex with Francine!"

"And so?" Celine shrugged. "Tis not the end of the world, Richart," she responded casually. "If I don't see a problem with it neither should you."

"You don't see..." words failed d'Artagnan at how nonchalant Celine behaved about it. Right this minute, if it weren't for the fact he had no source of income, nor memory for that matter, he would have left this house. But for now putting some distance between himself and Celine seemed called for. He decided to borrow one of the horses from the stable she kept and head into the city.

Watching the young man storm from the room, Celine wondered what Richart was going to do. When she heard the front door slam shut, Celine figured he had gone out to let off some steam. She knew her young lover had nowhere else to go, making it inevitable that Richart would be returning to her arms. With that tingling thought in mind, Celine bit into a freshly baked croissant.

++++

_Navarre_

Walking down the streets of the city, Athos was pensive. He had always been a good judge of character, more so than Porthos as Aramis liked to tease their bigger brother. Earlier Athos had put inquiries about that he needed someone for an errand of great importance. A certain runner had been mentioned to him and after setting up a meeting, Athos deemed the individual trustworthy enough to send his missive off with. Giving the runner a few coins, Athos watched him ride away. His thoughts straying upon how Treville would receive the news, Athos nearly missed seeing d'Artagnan ride into town.

Hailing the lad with a wave of his hand, Athos anxiously waited for d'Artagnan to join him. "Bonjour, Richart." He clapped the younger man on his shoulder, after d'Artagnan tied up his horse to the nearest post. "What brings you here?"

"I'm not exactly having kind thoughts toward Celine right now," d'Artagnan bit out between clenched teeth.

"Lover's tiff?" Athos chuckled. "It will pass and then you'll soon forget why you were mad at her in the first place." Even after those words left his lips, Athos noted the pain reflected in the depth of the Gascon's dark eyes.

"I doubt it," d'Artagnan said softly. Seeing the curious look in Olivier's eyes, he smiled and waved a hand toward a tavern across the street. "I'll explain over a drink."

++++

Making their way past several filled tables, both men made themselves comfortable at an empty one on the other side of the room. Catching the barkeep's attention they ordered their drinks.

While waiting, Athos listened with growing fury to d'Artagnan's story of the night before. Grabbing the lad's wrist in a tight grip he held back his anger as best he could. "Richart, leave that place now!"

Laughing bitterly, d'Artagnan reached out for his drink that just arrived. "Olivier, I have no place to go too, no memories and no money of my own," he huffed. "What pray would you do if you were in my shoes?" he arched a brow and held back from rolling his eyes.

Frustrated, Athos growled under his breath. He knew very well that he couldn't tell d'Artagnan to come with him, after all Athos was all but a stranger to his younger brother now.  Deeply afraid that the longer the lad stayed with Celine his pup's life would be in jeopardy, Athos would have to step up his game. "Has nothing of your memories returned?" Athos didn't miss the grimace that crossed d'Artagnan's expressive face.

"Only in my dreams so far," d'Artagnan snorted. "They make no sense," he waved his hand in the air and then slammed it down on the table.

"Mon ami, tell me what didn't make sense to you."

"Tis too ridiculous to mention," d'Artagnan wasn't in the mood to be ridiculed.

"Let me be the judge of that," Athos countered.

"I wore a royal blue cloak, the garments of a Musketeer," d'Artagnan said quietly, noting the frown that Olivier now sported at his words. "See, I told you it was ridiculous."

"I didn't say a word," Athos retorted, shooting the lad a hard look. "Perhaps they are not dreams. Could it be that you are indeed a soldier?"

"In the king's service?" d'Artagnan scoffed. "Hardly," he added sourly.

"What else do you see in these dreams of yours," Athos gently prodded.

"Faces," d'Artagnan pursed his lips, "they come and go like that," he snapped his fingers. "None of them stand out to me."

Aramis would gladly have slugged Athos for what he was considering. The thought crossed his mind that all d'Artagnan needed was another good blow to the head and then the lad would regain all he had lost. But that little devil riding Athos' shoulder was outvoted by what common sense he had left. This would be an uphill battle of that he was sure. But Athos had never accepted defeat before and wasn't about to start now.

"Tis funny though," d'Artagnan murmured.

"What is?"

"That I find you so familiar," d'Artagnan tilted his head to the side studying his companion.

"I have that affect on some people," Athos' dry tone apparently amused d'Artagnan, as he noted the upward quirk of his friend's lips.

Leaving the rest of his drink untouched, d'Artagnan pushed back from the table. "I best be returning back." Getting to his feet, he bowed. "My thanks for putting up with me."

Standing up himself, Athos shook d'Artagnan's hand. "Trust me when I say twas no hardship."

"Will you be coming tonight?" D'Artagnan hoped the older man would. He couldn't explain it, not to himself nor to Olivier, on his feelings for his new friend. There was just an overwhelming sense of _rightness_ about it whenever d'Artagnan was in the comte's company.

"Of course, Richart," Athos' blue eyes held nothing but warmth for the younger man. "Perhaps between the two of us we can shake loose those memories of yours."

"I'll look forward to seeing you later, Olivier," d'Artagnan nodded his head. "Au revoir ."

Wishing he could keep the lad with him longer, Athos drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. "Au revoir," his voice echoed. Seeing his brother slip out the door, concern gnawed at him on d'Artagnan going back to that place.

++++

 _Note:_  
_Maison Casanova_ is a real life bed and breakfast inn located in Sisco, France. I liked the name and used it in my story.

Most of the French words here are pretty basic but when Celine said Tu es tres beau... she told Richart (d'Art) you are very beautiful.

Also I better clear up something in this particular chapter. One of the tags I put up said that there would be attempted rape/non-con but Thimblerig said this chapter did depict non-con. Well this is my take on what happens. The attempted non-con part will actually take place either in the next chapter or after. Even though he was drugged, d'Art realized it to a certain degree and decided to let Francine have her way with him after all since he was upset that Celine set him up. So in a way it wasn't truly non-con for him. The next morning he said that to Celine to try and make her feel guilty. I hope that cleared that part up for anyone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See note at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Same day, late afternoon - back at the chateau_

Having had a relaxing bath, d'Artagnan was still draped in only a towel wrapped strategically low around his waist. Rummaging through a closet full of clothes, courtesy of Celine, he selected something suitable to wear for tonight's party. While occupied doing this, d'Artagnan was suddenly taken off guard when a pair of delicate hands reached around from behind him and began sliding up and down his chest. As fingertips played with d'Artagnan's nipples, light kisses peppered his back. Stiffening with displeasure, he forcefully removed the woman's hands. Twisting around d'Artagnan tightly gripped them both in one of his own hands, noting a wince of pain cross her lovely face as he did so.

Tugging against Richart's hold on her, Celine's red lips formed a perfect moue. "Are you still mad with me, mon amour?"

Releasing her in disgust d'Artagnan snapped. 'What do you think?"

Moving close to him again, Celine's blue eyes captured Richart's hurt ones. "I think you should forgive my tiny indiscretion and let us enjoy ourselves until my guests arrive tonight." Slipping her hands around his neck she reached for Richart's full lips. But when he shoved her away, Celine's eyes flashed in anger. "You never pushed me away before."

"Things like being drugged without my consent and making love to a stranger tend to dampen my mood," d'Artagnan ground out.

Arching an eyebrow, Celine stepped away from him. "Not in my experience," she was becoming bored with this young man's attitude. He wasn't fun any longer and when Celine's _fun_ waned she went on to something or someone better. "You and I were complete strangers and yet we ended up in bed together." There, she thought, try to get out of that one.

"After my health improved," d'Artagnan reminded her, "you and I got to know one another better before we ever became involved. So it didn't feel like you were a stranger to me when I took you into my bed."

Even though she knew Richart had a valid point, Celine realized that she wasn't going to get what she wanted from him and so wasted no further time with words. "Those guests I mentioned will be here in a few hours," she walked away and had her hand on the doorknob when Celine glanced back over her shoulder and met Richart's glacial stare. "Be there or not, I won't care one way or the other."

As the door closed behind her, d'Artagnan's knew that it also closed on their brief affair. He was positive Celine wouldn't miss him in the slightest. Last night's interlude with Francine left him feeling like a male prostitute for hire. Even though he had been drugged, d'Artagnan still had most of his faculties functioning properly so that he could have kicked Francine out of his bed. But he was so hurt that Celine would do such a thing to him that d'Artagnan went through the motions against his better judgement anyway. Now, in the clear light of day, he acknowledged to himself that perhaps the wisest course of action to follow would be to simply go away.

++++

_Early evening_

Guests dressed up to the nines as usual poured in through the door. Sipping a glass of wine d'Artagnan lazily took it all in. He had seated himself in a comfortable chair where he could see everyone as they entered, promising himself that if Francine showed up she would get a most frosty welcome from him. If that didn't put her off, he may just give her a swift kick in the ass for good measure. Perhaps then the woman would get the message that he was off limits to her.

Catching sight of Olivier's dark head as the man made his appearance, d'Artagnan quickly set aside his half filled drink. He couldn't say why again he was so relieved to see the older man but he was. Perhaps d'Artagnan would share something with Olivier that happened to him on the way back to the chateau after their shared drinks yesterday.

++++

Since it had been a rather warm day out, Athos decided to do without his long coat. He was dressed rather casually for tonight's soiree but felt no one would have the bad manners to point that out to him. He didn't dress to please anyone tonight but himself. His outfit consisted of slate blue, snug fitting pants topped with a billowing shirt of the same color which he had opened down to his waist. It suited his mood perfectly... dark and sinister is how he felt and hopefully it cried out to everyone, especially the lady sharks that were in attendance, that he wasn't available for any games the people in attendance here played. When he spotted d'Artagnan all alone looking back at him so anxiously, Athos made a beeline for his youngest praying that nothing else untoward had happened to the lad since they parted company yesterday.

"I am so happy to see you, Olivier," d'Artagnan instantly felt at ease when the other man joined him. He took a glass of brandy off the tray the butler held and offered it to Olivier.

Putting a companionable arm around the lad's shoulder, Athos steered them away from the crowd gathering around. "Has something else gone awry since we last met?"

Not looking his new friend in the eyes, d'Artagnan stared at the floor. "In a manner of speaking," he whispered. Feeling a finger underneath his chin lifting his face up, d'Artagnan stared into a pair of concerned blue eyes.

"I'd never tell a soul?" Athos whispered back, still seeing the same pain as yesterday's reflected in d'Artagnan's eyes.

"Celine wanted to make love earlier today as if nothing ever happened," d'Artagnan grimaced. "I wasn't very receptive to her technique and let it show," he ran a hand through his hair. "Consequently Celine said she could care less if I showed my face at tonight's party." Seeing Olivier's mouth open, d'Artagnan stalled the man by holding up his hand. "I know what you're going to tell me and it's not like that same thought hasn't crossed my mind as well," he sighed. "It's time for me to leave."

"Since you took the words right out of my mouth," Athos retorted sardonically, "I have nothing to add except it shows good taste on your part."

"I wanted to hurt her the way she hurt me," d'Artagnan's eyes took on a haunted quality.

"No one heals himself by wounding another," Athos tried to offer what comfort he could to the lad with his words.

"Of course, you are correct," d'Artagnan tried to smile but it was a halfhearted attempt at best. "Then that leaves me with my other problem," he looked about the room taking in the scene before him. All the people here appeared to not have a care in the world, he wished it were so for himself. "Where does a man with no memories go?"

Biting his lips to curtail his feelings, Athos wanted nothing more than to blurt out - _with me_. But knew that was the very last thing he could say. All he could do was show his pup that Athos was a friend that could be counted on to do the right thing. "Pertaining to our conversation from yesterday," he cocked his head to the side, "has any other memories resurfaced?"

"Funny you should ask that but, oui," d'Artagnan smiled. "Very odd memory it was too, if a _memory_ is what it truly was."

"Spit it out, man," Athos urged, "don't leave me lingering in suspense!"

"All right," d'Artagnan chuckled, pleased at how Olivier seemed to want to help him. "On the ride back to the chateau my head pained me again. That was when I saw flashes of images once more."

"Of what?" Athos pleaded with God for the lad to be remembering his old life. He reached out to shake the younger man's arm. 

"I think you were correct in believing I am a soldier because I was surrounded by Musketeers and it appeared as if we were fighting one another," d'Artagnan told him.

"I doubt that," Athos said. "Musketeers wouldn't fight amongst each other," he nearly corrected himself thinking that perhaps Porthos would given a good reason. "More than likely they were practicing."

"Mmmmm, all right," d'Artagnan agreed. "That would make better sense because I glimpsed an older man watching us from a balcony." Laughing he recalled another memory. "There was this huge, dark-skinned man with a grin as wide as his face clapping his hands at another who wore a fancy uniform adorned with a blue sash around his waist."

"Did you picture yourself there with them?" Please let it be so, Athos closed his eyes.

"I was fighting," d'Artagnan shook his head and corrected himself, "no I was practicing with an older man." D'Artagnan studied Olivier's face closely for a moment. "He resembled you to a certain degree."

"Perhaps that is why you say my face is so familiar to you," Athos wanted to let out a loud whoop but contained himself. The lad's memories were coming back and soon he'd have him out of this place.

"The first month while I recovered from my head wound I was confined to bed by Celine's physician. During that time I had recurring nightmares," d'Artagnan admitted. "Celine told me I said the oddest names in my sleep."

"What were they?" Taking a slow sip of his brandy, Athos was on tetherhooks.

"Porthos... Aramis... and Athos," d'Artagnan noted how Olivier's eyes lit up each time he announced a name and was more than curious about it. "Look for all I know they were names of my pets," he chuckled. "That is if I have any. Probably all dogs." Wondering what he said that had Olivier spitting up his brandy, d'Artagnan slapped the man on the back a few times. "Are you all right?"

"Never," Athos coughed a few times, "better, mon ami." _Dogs_ , he thought. Dieu! Wait until Aramis and Porthos hear how low we've sunk in our youngest's thoughts. "Tis more than likely those are names of your brothers-in-arms."

"Rather strange names do you not agree?" Hands tucked under his armpits, d'Artagnan waited and then waited a bit more. With no forthcoming answer he shared a long look with Olivier. "Have you nothing to share on the matter?"

"I was trying to figure out a way to explain things to you, Richart," Athos cleared his throat. "Some men when they enter into the king's service take up other names so that their family cannot trace them."

"Why on earth would they do something like that?" D'Aragnan was shocked at hearing this.

"They perhaps were running away from their past," Athos shrugged. "Tis usually over something they had done that they were ashamed of and could bring their family low."

"Seems like a strange way to cover their tracks," d'Artagnan rolled his eyes, earning a small smile from the older man. "So... not _pets_ then?"

Snorting, Athos replied, "I hardly think so."

"Okay," d'Artagnan flashed Olivier a cheeky grin. "I doubt if I am really a solider that I would have time to take care of pets anyway."

"Now that you have a slight insight into your past," Athos steered the lad over to the buffet table, "you know your destination."

Popping a piece of cheese into his mouth," d'Artagnan observed the delicacies arranged on the table, deciding what to choose. "I do?"

"Most definitely," Athos began to fill his plate up. Helping someone regain their memories was hard work and he needed to fortify himself with good food. "Paris and the Musketeer Garrison."

"Would you come with me," d'Artagnan wasn't sure about asking Olivier that but somehow the words just escaped him. "I mean just as far as Paris," he hung his head. 'I don't mean to sound so needy but I feel that I can trust you."

Placing his hand on the back of d'Artagnan's neck, Athos squeezed it gently. "You may trust me with your life, mon fre-," catching himself from making a mistake Athos said, "mon ami."

"Does that mean you'll come with me?"

"I have nowhere else I'd rather be than by your side as you ride into the garrison," Athos winked.

"Oh but you wouldn't have to go that far," d'Artagnan didn't want to put his new friend out that much. "Just having you accompany me to Paris is enough."

"Ah!" Athos laughed. "My travels have not yet taken me to see the Musketeer Garrison nor the Royal Palace," he dug into a fresh strawberry crepe with whipped cream on top. "Tis something for me to remember, eh?"

Then d'Artagnan laughed along with him as they went to find a place to sit. "Oh, by the way, I heard you made a conquest," seeing the fork stopped midway to Olivier's mouth, d'Artagnan's eyes twinkled devilishly. "Mademoiselle Chantal."

"Mon Dieu!" Athos waved his fork menacingly at the lad. "Do not give me indigestion, pup!"

At the word _pup_ , d'Artagnan's own hand froze while he was slicing a piece of roast chicken. "What did you call me?"

Realizing what he let slip out, Athos nearly bit his own tongue. Damn! he thought. "Uh, just a term of affection."

Letting it slide for now, d'Aragnan continued eating. But that solitary word remained with him until he retired for the evening.

++++

_After midnight_

All the guests had left and Celine was ready for bed. She had things to mull over though. For earlier that night two men approached her about Richart. They offered her a lucrative amount of money for a night with her young guest. Oh she wasn't stupid by any means. Celine knew she had burnt her bridges behind her when she let Francine sleep with Richart. Her lover was going to leave his warm nest soon but before that Celine would make him pay a price.

++++

 _Notes:_  
The quote: _"No one heals himself by wounding another"_ is from St. Ambrose.

Aurelius Ambrosius, better known in English as Saint Ambrose was a bishop of Milan who became one of the most influential ecclesiastical figures of the 4th century and eventually became the patron saint of Milan as well.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the more risque chapter. You have been warned! But honestly it's not that bad (grins).
> 
> See notes below.
> 
> ++++

_Next day, late afternoon - still at the chateau_

With her thoughts on Richart last night and seeing how he had avoided her company for the most part today, Celine had made up her mind to take the Cloutier brothers up on their most generous offer. She then wrote a quick note, addressed it to them and handed it off to Reynard to dispatch.

Before leaving Reynard said, “Madame should know that Richart was packing his belongings and will be departing shortly.”

“Merci, Reynard, for letting me know.” Celine tapped the letter she had given him. “Get this off right away. The Cloutiers do not live too far from here. I would see that they receive this as quickly as possible.”

“Very well, Madame.”

The twin brothers were well known in the area. Their devastating good looks, combined with a potent lethal charm, were usually their ticket into polite society and the not so polite. When Celine thought of them that old cliché came to mind - _tall, dark and handsome_. It fit the twins to perfection. Barthelemi and Christofle loved to play erotic games with willing or unwilling bed partners as much as Celine did. She was positive Richart would be a good fit for the boy’s ménage a trois. Not wasting anytime, Celine went to Richart’s room. She had to stall him until the Cloutiers’ arrival.

++++

It had taken d’Artagnan only a matter of minutes to pack the pitiful amount of clothes he had. His own had been stripped from him when Celine’s men had found him, having been left only in his smalls and nothing else. Keeping only a spare shirt and a pair of pants, d’Artagnan wanted nothing else of hers. When a light knock at the door made him pause, d’Artagnan called out, “Come in.” Seeing that it was Celine he quickly turned his head away.

“I hear you are leaving us, Richart,” Celine stayed just inside the entranceway. “Were you going to tell me or just walk out?” Celine tried to put just the right amount of hurt in her voice.

Facing her, d’Artagnan tucked his hands under his armpits as he was wont to do, usually it hid his nervousness. “I would have found you to give thanks for your kindness in caring for me these past months.”

“Just _caring_ , mon cher?” Celine pouted, remembering their past shared intimacies.

“I certainly wasn’t going to thank you for Francine’s escapade with me,” he snapped back.

“Are we rehashing that old chestnut again?” she complained.

“It certainly didn't show me in a very good light," d'Artagnan muttered. "Personally I’d rather forget the whole thing ever happened,” d’Artagnan gave her a cool look.

Trying for damage control, Celine's eyes undressed Richart where he stood. "If it's any consolation to you I never had a more fantastic lover."

Turning his back on her, d'Artagnan picked up the small satchel Reynard had so kindly provided him. As he went to go past her to leave, Celine splayed fingers against his chest to stop him.

"Must there be anger between us, mon ange," she purred.

"I'm way beyond anger at this point," he glanced at her sadly and wondered at how he could have been so blind where she was concerned.

When she was about to respond, Reynard had quietly approached and whispered in her ear. Nodding to him, Celine looked back at Richart. "Before you leave there are two people I would like you to meet."

Wanting nothing more than to put this place and Celine in the past where it now belonged, d'Artagnan followed her. He figured her guests would be in the main salon area; d'Artagnan had to go through that room anyway on his way out. Thinking that all he had to do was say bonjour and adieu, d'Artagnan could then take his leave.

++++

_Maison Casanova_

Athos had been ready hours ago but promised d'Artagnan that he'd wait for the lad to meet him here at the inn around four in the afternoon. Anticipation was killing him for the two of them to ride out of Navarre and back to Paris. Hoping that once they arrived at the garrison, and in the arms of his fellow brothers, d'Artagnan's memories would fully return and then he'd have his pup back. Getting antsy, Athos decided to give the lad until three o'clock instead. If d'Artagnan wasn't here by that time then Athos would go to Celine's and see what was holding his youngest up.

++++

_Back at the chateau_

"Richart, let me introduce you to some friends of mine," Celine stood between two young men slightly older in appearance than Richart. "Christofle and Barthelemi Cloutier." The twins bowed their heads toward Richart.

Stepping forward, Barthelemi gave Richart the once over with an odd glint in his hazel eyes. "We like to go by Chris and Bart," he smiled showing perfect white teeth in a tanned face.

"And which one are you," d'Artagnan asked, really he wasn't interested but he wanted to be polite.

Smiling, he nudged his brother in the side. "Bart."

So the other was Chris who was staring at him like he was a tasty meal, making d'Artagnan decidedly uncomfortable.

"Unfortunately now that I have you all together Richart is leaving me," Celine glanced slyly at the twins.

"Quel dommage," Chris murmured, moving in closer to Richart.

An unsettled feeling overcame d'Artagnan as both brothers converged on him. Now he knew how a mouse felt when stalked by a hungry cat. "Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure but I really must be on my way."

"May I ask, even though I know your reasons," Celine tilted her head watching Richart closely, "what is the rush?"

"I am meeting Olivier in town," d'Artagnan replied.

"Olivier," she repeated surprised. "My you made friends awfully fast."

"You're one to talk," d'Artagnan snorted. "Besides between Olivier and myself I may have just found where I belong." As d'Artagnan went to walk past the twins he suddenly found Bart blocking his way.

"This Olivier can wait surely," Bart was being his most charming while his brother went to stand behind Richart.

He really wasn't in the mood to fight his way out, but it appeared to d'Artagnan that the twins didn't want him to leave. He twisted his head around to see what Chris was up to and noted him removing his hand from his coat pocket.

There was some type of white powdery substance in the palm of Chris' hand. Next thing he knew, Chris was blowing the powder directly into d'Artagnan's unprotected face. Staggering back a few paces, d'Artagnan covered his face with his hands. It wasn't long after that his legs gave out and he was on the verge of collapsing until d'Artagnan felt strong hands grip his arms.

"Where can we take him, Celine?" Bart glanced at their very attractive tresor and winked at Chris.

"Your usual place, mon ami," Celine led the way. "You have carte blanche to do with him what you will."

The hardness in her voice was the last thing d'Artagnan heard before he passed out.

++++

_In a secluded section of the chateau_

Placing the unconscious man on the bed, both brothers proceeded to remove Richart's clothes leaving him in only his smalls for the present.

They bound his wrists to either side of the bedposts leaving Richart's legs free. Being connoisseurs of the flesh their greedy eyes took in the younger man's trim, muscled body which only wet their appetites for more.

"Do you have it?" Chris asked his brother, watching as Bart handed him a glass of wine.

"Do the honors, mon frere." Bart licked his lips.

Holding up the limp head just enough, Chris tipped the contents into Richart's mouth. "This aphrodisiac should only take a few minutes to work its magic."

"Quite a buffet to dine on, eh, Chris?" Bart rubbed his hands together, anticipating the delights to come.

"With Richart being our piece de resistance," Chris chuckled.

Being twins, naturally they had an instinctive rapport with each other as simultaneously they shed their own clothes, leaving them totally in the buff. Climbing onto either side of the bed, their warm bodies eagerly pressed against Richart's, stirring the younger man slowly into wakefulness.

Tracing a firm jaw with one finger, Bart's eyes studied Richart's face. "He has the look of a Gascon about him."

"But of course," Chris agreed. "I noticed that at first glance."

"I hear they have a firey nature, n'est-ce pas?" Bart lazily caressed Richart's chest up and down.

"Oui," Chris followed his brother's example. "I believe we shall be quite entertained."

Senses somewhat returning, d'Artagnan found that he couldn't move his arms but was relieved to know his legs were free. His body felt like a furnace, hot to the touch, as he began to sweat profusely while a burning sensation flowed throughout him. It actually began to turn into a painful situation for him as his lower body began to ache terribly. Smacking dry lips together, d'Artagnan wondered why they tingled so as his whole being felt consumed by fire.

When he realized that the twins were on the bed with him, d'Artagnan began to panic. Tugging at his bonds was useless and he tried to twist his body away from the brothers to no avail as one of them would just throw a leg over d'Artagnan to keep him in place. But as the fire inside him continued to grow, his fight for his virtue slipped away.

Mindless now with the fever that gripped him, d'Artagnan found himself pleading with Chris and Bart to ease his discomfort while two pairs of hands roamed all over d'Artagnan's writhing form. Suddenly he felt his smalls being ripped away from him as cool air rushed over his naked frame.

Playing Richart like a fine tuned instrument, the twins worked in tandem until they had the young man in a frenzy of need, bucking wildly beneath their eager hands. All Richart's senses were heightened from the drug they had given him which in turn gave them the intense pleasure they craved.

"He tastes divine," Chris cooed while kissing Richart passionately.

"And to think we have all the time in the world to feast on Richart's perfection," Bart plastered his body on top of the younger man's, shoving Chris out of the way.

"Now is that anyway to treat your brother," Chris whined.

"Do not worry so," Bart panted, "you'll have your turn."

" _NEITHER ONE OF YOU WILL HAVE YOUR TURN!_ " Athos roared in absolute fury at the scene of debauchery he was witnessing. He could see that poor d'Artagnan had been once again drugged. Noting the lad's loss of control, Athos surmised d'Artagnan had been fed some type of aphrodisiac.

Athos could have cheerfully committed murder right then and there seeing how the twin brothers salivated over d'Artagnan. "You have two seconds to get off that bed or I shall shoot you where you lay!" Observing the speed that propelled the two men off of his friend, Athos smirked. "I would have preferred to shoot you both but c'est la vie." Pointing his pistol menacingly at the naked twins, Athos watched in amusement as they grabbed at their clothes and dashed out of the room as if they were in a race for their lives. Which they were.

Walking over to a more than distressed d'Artagnan's side, Athos untied the lad's wrists. Hearing the pup's moans, Athos temper began to climb upward again. Celine, who he left tied up downstairs, was lucky he was not a killer of women. The way he felt right now, Athos would gladly have skewered her on the tip of his rapier. Wiping the sweat off his younger brother's brow, Athos' closed his eyes as if he were the one suffering in torment. "Oh, mon frere, you attract trouble the way Aramis attracts the ladies." Athos was resigned to waiting while the drug worked its way out of d'Artagnan's system. It was times like this one where Athos wished he were a praying man like Aramis. Perhaps God would listen to a sinner such as he when Athos prayed for d'Artagnan's recovery in both mind and body. Carding his fingers through d'Artagnan's sweat soaked locks, Athos bent his head to seek God's favor.

++++

Aside from the basic French words used here's a translation for these ones:

_Quel dommage_ \- what a shame  
_Tresor_ \- treasure  
_Piece de resistance_ \- the best, the main meal, literally a piece that resists  
_N'est-ce pas_ \- isn't it true  
_C'est la vie_ \- such is life or it is what it is


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See notes at the bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Same day and time at the chateau where we left both our boys_

Having undid the lad's bonds, Athos sat on the bed with d'Artagnan's head in his lap. He had used his neck scarf to wipe off most of the sweat that poured down his youngest's face. Setting the scarf aside, he patted the Gascon's heated cheeks gently trying to bring d'Artagnan back to him.

"Come on, boy!" Athos urged. 'I don't want us to linger here any longer than necessary." Finally he was rewarded with a pair of dazed, brown eyes blinking up at him.

The man smiling down at him was vaguely familiar to d'Artagnan as the face came more clearly into focus. "Oliv..." d'Artagnan cleared his throat a few times, "Olivier," he raised a weak arm to place his hand on Olivier's who currently had his roughened palm against d'Artagnan's cheek.

"That's me, pup." Athos placed d'Artagnan's head back down on the damp pillow.

"There's that word again," d'Artagnan muttered as he watched the older man get off the bed.

"We'll discuss _that word_ again at a later date." Athos bent down to retrieve d'Artagnan's clothes that were scattered all over the floor.

Placing a hand on his head, d'Artagnan moaned pitifully. "I feel awful."

"Nothing's ever easy with you," Athos grumbled as he got the lad to sit up with thoughts of helping d'Artagnan dress.

"Huh?" d'Artagnan blinked owlishly back at him.

"Never mind for now." Athos scowled, wondering how long the struggle would take to get d'Artagnan into his clothing. With the state his younger brother was in, Athos seriously doubted a timely outcome.

Seeing d'Artagnan turn a sickly shade of green, Athos instantly retrieved the nearest waste basket he could find and observed the lad repeatedly throw up into it. With a hand on the back of d'Artagnan's hot neck and one on the lad's back, Athos steadied him. When he finished helping the Gascon clean himself up, Athos then began the task of dressing his pup.

After a tug of war getting d'Artagnan's snug breeches on, Athos was breathing heavily. "Richart, think you could finish getting the remainder of your clothes on by yourself?"

"Could you help me with those boots at least?" d'Artagnan was still feeling whoozy and didn't trust himself as the room revolved around him. He would more than likely put the right boot on his left foot in his present state. Happily d'Artagnan let Olivier take care of his footwear for him. "My thanks," he nodded and reached for the shirt that his friend handed out to him. Pulling it over his head, d'Artagnan began to sweat again. The room spun merrily around him even more and resulted with him flopping back down on the bed.

"Oh non, non, non!" Athos' shoulders slumped in defeat. Shaking his head he reached down, grabbed the lad's arm and pulled d'Artagnan from his reclined position and off the bed. "We're getting out of here now before Reynard breaks down the closet door and unties Celine." Placing one of the Gascon's arms over his own shoulder, Athos and the younger man left the room.

"What... what did you mean... about Reynard and a closet?" Even though his brain felt scrambled, d'Artagnan was pretty sure he heard Olivier correctly.

"I couldn't wait any longer for you to meet me," Athos said, looking left and right to make sure no one would prevent their escape, "so I arrived here and got some pretty evasive answers from Reynard." Stumbling, Athos placed one hand against the wall for balance as the full weight of d'Artagnan fell hard against him. "Then I pushed my way past him and ran into Celine's bloody lies next."

"What... what were they telling you about me?"

"That you had already left the premises," Athos smirked, though his younger brother couldn't see him. "If that were the case you would have already met up with me back in town before our appointed time. So I knew their words were false."

"What happened... after... that," d'Artagnan clung tightly to Olivier as if the man were his lifeline.

"I shoved Celine in a chair, held my pistol on her while ordering Reynard to find me a lengthy piece of rope," Athos grinned remembering how he relished trussing up that woman. "Then I tied her up and found a nice closet to lock Reynard up in."

"Wish I could... have seen... that," d'Artagnan then suddenly recalled the Cloutier twins. "Mon dieu! Where are they?" he swiveled his head around in fear, expecting the brothers to pop out at him any minute. But that only resulted in making the corridors spin madly about d'Artagnan.

They finally worked their way down to floor level and were within reach of the exit. "If by _who_ you mean those two naked bodies that ran past me," Athos laughed harshly, "they should be on the way home with a certain part of their deflated anatomy between their legs."

Feeling the shudders that wracked the Gascon's body, Athos checked d'Artagnan's forehead to see if the lad's fever spiked again. What he got in return were a pair of amused eyes looking back at him. Athos, in his concern, mistook d'Artagnan's shaking body as a result of the drug still in his system but it turned out that the lad was merely amused. "Did I say something funny?"

"Bart and Chris, naked as the day they were born, running out of here," d'Artagnan chuckled.

"They got off lucky as far as I'm concerned." Having to walk through the dining area, Athos heard Celine cursing a blue streak. Apparently Madame could give Porthos a run for his money in that department. Stopping in front of her Athos' lips twisted. "If it were not for the fact that you probably have the gendarmes in your pocket," he snarled, "I would have you arrested immediately."

"Over some unknown young man who doesn't even remember his own name," Celine scoffed, still struggling against the ropes securing her.

"You are unaware of our true identities," Athos voice hardened to granite. "I am Athos of the king's Musketeers." Good, he thought as Athos witnessed Celine's face turn milk white. "And this is my younger brother d'Artagnan," he stabbed her with a lethal look, "also a Musketeer."

"I didn't... didn't know!" she screeched, her heart beating so loud Celine could hear it.

"With the lad's memories gone you wouldn't have," Athos acknowledged. "I would have given you my thanks for your earlier care of d'Artagnan but after what you arranged with those two canailles it only shows what a putain you truly are at heart." Athos couldn't wait to get to his horse as d'Artagnan was beginning to stagger again. It wouldn't do for both of them to fall down at this point. "D'Artagnan had been missing for months and most of the regiment presumed him dead," Athos spoke stiffly.

"But not you I gather?" Celine regained her composure, still resenting Athos' remark.

"Too true," he agreed. "Learning that he was here, memories gone," Athos shrugged, "I had to gain entry into your house some way."

"Then the comte never existed?" she asked, painfully aware that this Musketeer could bring her up on serious charges to the king of France.

"That part was the truth," Athos stared icily at her. "Under other circumstances I would gladly bring you back to Paris and throw you on the mercy of King Louis. But I want to just take my youngest back home to his family and pray there won't be any lasting effects from what you have done to him."

For the most part what Olivier told Celine sailed over d'Artagnan's head. The few words that stood out to him were - _Musketeer_... _Athos_... and _d'Artagnan_. Feeling so poorly, he couldn't make the connection at all. Without looking at Celine, he whined. "Too much talking, Olivier." Hearing the other man's snuff of laughter, d'Artagnan pouted. "I thought you were in... a hurry... to leave. Because I certainly do."

"Your wish is my command, mon ami." With a last glance back at Celine's sour looking face, Athos and d'Artagnan departed the house of pleasure.

Going over to where he left Roger, Athos helped d'Artagnan get his feet into the stirrups and made sure the lad had his seat before swinging up behind him. As d'Artagnan rested against Athos' chest, he placed his left arm around the Gascon's waist to make sure d'Artagnan wasn't in danger of falling off. "May I ask what you did to find yourself in that predicament?"

"Celine knew how upset I was with her over that incident with Francine. It was something I couldn't forgive," d'Artagnan closed his eyes, relishing in the warm breeze blowing over him as Roger put distance between them and the Maison Close. "I guess she was so pissed at my actions toward her that Bart and Chris were her way of payback," d'Artagnan's eyes still remained closed. "It will be something I'll have to live with for a long while and just put this down to a bad learning experience."

"The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it," Athos retorted angrily, not ready to forgive or forget just yet.

"Apologies," d'Artagnan said softly. "I didn't mean to make you angry."

"I've been angry ever since I found out what Celine did to you with Francine," Athos growled. "Then your near rape was the last straw."

"You said something to her about Musketeers," d'Artagnan had his eyes open now and twisted his head to look at his rescuer. "Is that what you are?"

He wanted to scream and shout that d'Artagnan was one too but Athos knew he was asking too much. His pup had been through much. Head trauma, loss of memories, a romance with a Madame and finally betrayal. All those things even made Athos' head spin when he thought upon it. Put together they would create quite a novel for someone to write. For now all Athos wanted was for them both to arrive in Paris without any further delays along the way. Please God let it be so.

"And, Olivier," d'Artagnan paused a beat, "who is d'Artagnan?" 

++++

_Note:_

_Translations:_  
_Gendarmes_ \- policemen  
_Putain_ \- prostitute, whore... you get the picture.

 _The quote:_ * _The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it*_ is from Flannery O'Connor. She was an American writer and essayist. A voice of importance in American literature.


	8. Chapter 8

_Same day, evening - En route to Paris_

It would be slow going back to Paris as they only had Roger to rely on. So Athos had to stop periodically to give his horse a well deserved rest in between since they were riding double. He was truly grateful that they were only looking at a possibly six or seven day journey back home considering the rate they would have to travel.

Since late evening was now upon them, Athos found a nice area for them to make camp near a flowing stream where they could wash up in the morning. Making sure that d'Artagnan rested up, Athos helped the lad with the extra bedroll he had brought along and settled the younger man near the fire Athos had started.

The lad's stomach had finally calmed down after Athos produced some peeled, raw ginger root from his provisions for d'Artagnan to eat. Aramis always insisted that everyone should carry some in case of stomach ailments. Considering some of their rations and food they ate along the way during missions, Athos appreciated Aramis' thoroughness in peeling and packaging the ginger for them so that it would stay fresh.

The fire cast a soft glow on d'Artagnan's tired features and Athos could tell the Gascon was still awake. Hours ago d'Artagnan had asked him a question which he had never answered. It looked like now was the time to get it out in the open. "Earlier you asked me about _d'Artagnan_ ," he voiced gruffly. Seeing his brother turn on his side to look back at him, Athos grimaced wondering where to begin. "Already you know that I am a Musketeer but so is d'Artagnan."

"Still doesn't tell me who he is, Olivier." Feeling much better and more clear headed, d'Artagnan had the nagging feeling that whomever this other Musketeer was to Olivier he was an important part of the older man's life.

Even though Athos was used to hearing his pup call him by his given name lately, it still gave him pause. It was just so strange to hear it from the lad's lips. Knowing that he should let his protégé remember on his own, in this case Athos had to go against his better judgment. Things left unsaid for too long have come back to bite him in the ass before. He would not let this be one of those times. "First I want you to know that in our regiment I am known as Athos."

"Isn't that a mountain?" d'Artagnan yawned and rubbed his eyes, so he missed the roll of Athos' blue eyes.

"I get that a lot," Athos' lips quirked, wondering how d'Artagnan could remember that and not his own name astounded him no end.

"What of this _d'Artagnan_? Is that not his real name either?"

Chuckling, Athos threw a few more sticks onto their campfire. "The lad's one of the few that actually goes by his family name." Unrolling his own bedroll close to the fire, opposite d'Artagnan, Athos stretched out on it. Turned onto his side he had a good view of the young Gascon who mirrored Athos' own position. "Charles d'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony."

"What is he to you," d'Artagnan whispered. It was a quiet night, any wildlife there was around had already turned in for the evening as well.

Observing the serious face of his youngest over the burning fire, Athos sighed. "Tis hard to convey in words what d'Artagnan means to me," he laughed quietly. "Friend... brother... son and more. He's the reason I still live, having saved my life when all I wanted to do was drown my sorrows in as many taverns as I could find."

"Sounds an interesting individual," d'Artagnan needed to know more than this though. "I assumed if I am a Musketeer as you thought," he frowned mulling a few things over in his mind, "then I must know this man as well." Hearing Olivier, or Athos if he preferred to be known, snort at d'Artagnan's innocent remark he waited for the other man to elaborate.

"One could say that you know d'Artagnan quite intimately," Athos noted the pup's eyes widened at his choice of words and thought to correct the false impression he just gave. "I do not mean it in the way you are now thinking."

"I should hope not," d'Artagnan retorted grumpily. "I may not remember my past but I feel I do not lean in that direction," he winced. "Despite the circumstances you found me in."

Not wanting to be reminded of that time either, Athos snapped. "You were out of your mind with that drug through no fault of your own. I know tis hard but put it behind you."

"I will try," d'Artagnan's eyes drifted away from the angry face of his rescuer to look into the dancing firelight.

Still hesitating to let le chat out of the bag just yet, Athos said, "d'Artagnan's name doesn't ring any bells for you at all?"

Scrunching up his face in concentration, d'Artagnan huffed. "Tis there, just out of reach, right along with all those other faces that come and go in my dreams."

Well then here was where Athos had to lay out all his cards, though the stakes couldn't be any higher for him. " _YOU_ are d'Artagnan," nothing, absolute silence greeted his ears. Athos started to think that perhaps the lad drifted off to sleep and didn't hear his announcement. But casting a glance over at the Gascon, Athos could clearly see the shock register on that young face.

"I'm this _d'Artagnan_? he squeaked, sitting up so abruptly that his head spun again making the world revolve around him.

"The one and only," Athos murmured quietly, slightly amused at his youngest's reaction.

Recovering as much as he was able to, d'Artagnan chewed on his lips trying hard to reconcile himself to the fact that not only was he truly a Musketeer but that he had a name to go along with the uniform, that he clearly was lacking for the moment. Tilting his head to the side, d'Artagnan asked, "Was I so valued by you that you came all this way in search of me yourself?"

Athos grinned, so pleased to finally use the lad's name without fear. "Your _value_ ," and he emphasized the last word, "to your fellow brothers is immeasurable, d'Artagnan."

"But what of you," d'Artagnan wasn't going to let this go. The older man went out of his way to find him and that had to mean something. What that was d'Artagnan wasn't quite sure of.

Ah, there's that Gascon stubborness, Athos mused. He didn't realize how much he had missed it until now. "Child, you have been the brightest light for me in a dark, dark world."

Still not satisfied, d'Artagnan pouted. Unconsciously knowing that this was a tactic he had used in the past, and most effectively, to his advantage. So he played it here for all he was worth.

Seeing d'Artagnan's trademark signature in full force, Athos blinked against it at first. Then holding back from laughing out loud, for the young man deserved the truth after all d'Artagnan had been through lately, he admitted the rest of what was in his own heart. "I could not have wished for a better _son_ than if I had been blessed with one."

Blushing, d'Artagnan nodded his head firmly as if that was what he had been waiting to hear all along. Yawning hugely once more, d'Artagnan laid back down. "You have given me a lot to think over on our journey home." Closing his eyes d'Artagnan let the crackling of the fire lull him into a dreamless sleep.

Oh to be that young again and let Morpheus take you at the drop of a hat. These days Athos had to be bone weary for that to occur. His brain had been working nonstop since coming to Navarre in search of the lad. Now slumber didn't come so readily to him. One thing he was going to set the pup straight on first thing in the morning was the use of his given name. Olivier was no more as far as he was concerned. It was _Athos_ that lived the life of a soldier and he'd make sure d'Artagnan understood that before they reached the gates of the garrison.

++++

_Next morning_

Having washed up by the cool stream, the men shared a meager breakfast since they both were eager to be on their way to Paris.

Mounted on Roger's back again, Athos explained to d'Artagnan his own past and why he only ever called upon his heritage in dire circumstances.

"So Olivier's out and Athos is in, eh?" d'Artagnan smirked. "I'll try to remember that."

"There is no _try_ about it," Athos corrected. "You will remember that or find yourself over my knee, young man."

"I'd like to see you get that far, old man," d'Artagnan, who now sat behind Athos, was shaking with laughter. Knowing that Athos could feel it, he waited for the comeback.

"Now we're back to our old form," Athos smiled. "I've missed our teasing banter."

"Feels nice doesn't it," d'Artagnan pressed his head against Athos' back and closed his eyes. "Some things feel very familiar."

"Wait until we reach the garrison and you meet up with Aramis and Porthos," Athos said. "Between the three of us it should shake something loose in that Gascon head of yours."

"Tell me more about myself," d'Artagnan hoped that he was a good person.

"I've told you way too much as it is," Athos admitted. "Aramis will give me a swift kick in my ass for telling you as much as I have already."

"Meaning I'm supposed to come up with the rest entirely on my own," d'Artagnan would try but couldn't make any promises he'd be successful.

"Patience has its own rewards, remember that d'Artagnan," Athos said, squeezing the lad's arm that was wrapped about his waist.

"But at the rate we're traveling it's taking so long to get there," d'Artagnan didn't mean to sound like a whining petit garcon but that's how he felt.

"I will not risk Roger just so we can break records in getting to the garrison," Athos admonished, trying to hold back his temper. If he had been through what d'Artagnan had been, Athos would want to get home as speedily as possible too. "Apologies," he murmured.

Patting Athos' back in understanding, d'Artagnan knew he had been the impatient one. "I am the one who should apologize."

"Let us agree that neither one of us need apologize, all right?" Athos grinned, even knowing the pup couldn't see his face.

"Fine with me," d'Artagnan looked around him. "I'll just keep quiet and observe the lovely scenery."

"Oh that would be a first," Athos chuckled.

"Are you saying that I can not keep quiet?" d'Artagnan arched a brow.

"You chatter constantly," Athos pointed out. "It never seemed to bother Porthos or Aramis but sometimes..." he trailed off.

"It bothered you," d'Artagnan snorted. "Showing your age again, old man."

"Pup," Athos growled, "do you want me to show you how old I really am?"

"A duel?" d'Artagnan's lighthearted laughter was caught by the warm breeze of the day. 

If the lad had known it, d'Artagan's amusement reminded Athos very much of Aramis in that moment.

"I thought duels were illegal," d'Artagnan mused.

"So they are, pup, so they are," Athos nodded. "Remembering a few things are we?"

"Mmmmmm, suppose so. Now hush, your spoiling my quiet mood," d'Artagnan teased.

"Mind your elders, whelp," Athos fired back, but there was no anger in his tone.

"Porthos usually calls me that, doesn't he?"

Pleased to no end at hearing that, Athos' voice threatened to close up. "He uses that term the most but when you upset us we all tend to as well."

"Does that happen a lot then? I mean my upsetting everyone?"

"Oui," Athos lied.

"I don't believe you?" d'Artagnan slapped Athos on the back for telling fibs. "Why do you call me pup all the time?"

"You are the youngest in our regiment. Having gained your commission at only nineteen years of age," Athos bit his lower lip. "And tis all you'll get out of me. From now on you have to remember the rest on your own." Feeling his youngest' sighing breath against his neck, Athos tried not to feel guilty.

"I hope Paris greets us soon," d'Artagnan muttered and began to enjoy their surroundings as Roger kept up a good pace.

No more so than me, Athos thought. It was going to be several long days worth of riding ahead of them to come. God grant Athos patience to not blurt out anything further until they've reached their destination.

++++

_Seven days later - Paris, Musketeer Garrison_

Having no knowledge that Athos and d'Artagnan were on their way home, all the Musketeers were unprepared to see the duo ride into the garrison on Roger's back.

Most of the men were out in the courtyard either practicing or training other recruits. Which is what Aramis and Porthos were up to when they heard the commotion begin.

"What's all that yammerin' goin' on?" Porthos growled. He was showing a recruit the art of throwing a dagger when he had heard the shouts. Of course it made him miss his target which angered him and didn't exactly set a good example for the man he was training.

"Porthos, what's going on?" Aramis was just as curious. Having been practicing with his musket at the time.

"Damn if I know!" Porthos grumbled. "But I'm gonna find out!"

Seeing Treville rushing down the steps from his office, one would have thought the Louvre was on fire as both Musketeers observed their commander head for the entrance of the garrison.

When Aramis and Porthos saw who had arrived, they threw their weapons to the ground and raced over to where Roger impatiently snorted.

Cheers rent the air all around d'Artagnan and Athos, causing the younger man to hide his face against Athos' back.

"They're simply happy to have you back with them, pup," Athos whispered, twisting his body around to grab the lad's chin. Shaking it gently, Athos tapped his youngest's nose. "Bask in it for now."

"D'ARTAGNAN!" cried out Aramis who reached out to him.

"HANG IT ALL, WHELP!" Porthos yelled as he pushed Aramis aside, wanting to be the one to help the lad down.

"I was here first," Aramis huffed.

"Didn't seem like ya were ta me," Porthos shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Uh, Athos," d'Artagnan spoke softly. "Do I know these two?"

"I'd love to say you don't," Athos laughed, "but unfortunately you do."

Looking around at all the happy faces, d'Artagnan felt a lump building in his throat. Surprised at this reception, he could only hope to live up to the name - _d'Artagnan_.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See notes at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Same day – Musketeer Garrison_

Helping d’Artagnan off Roger, Porthos held the lad in his arms, not even letting the young Musketeer’s feet touch the ground. He buried his dark curls in d’Artagnan’s long hair and Porthos’ shoulders shook with the tears he shed. “Mon Dieu, whelp! We thought ya was dead!”

Placing a hand on the larger Musketeer’s back, Aramis spoke softly. “Porthos, mon ami, let d’Artagnan breathe.”

Finally releasing the lad Porthos stepped back, one hand swiping at his face and the other clenched tightly on d’Artagnan’s arm. Now that the whelp was back he wasn’t about to let him go too soon.

“My turn I think,” Aramis grinned and tugged the young man into his arms. A hard prospect at best with Porthos clinging to the pup like a leech. “You have been sorely missed, mon frère.” Fondly patting d’Artagnan’s cheek, Aramis cradled it in his hand studying the face he had been having nightmares over. Letting his own tears flow freely Aramis swallowed hard, keeping his one hand anchored around the lad’s waist until Captain Treville shoved him out of the way, knocking Porthos hand off d'Artagnan's arm in the process as well.

Scowling, Aramis was about to reprimand his own commanding officer. That was before Porthos lunged forward preventing his friend from doing something stupid.

“He’s the captin’,” Porthos growled in Aramis’ ear.

Batting Porthos’ hands away. “First _you_ shove me away and then Treville,” Aramis huffed folding his arms. “I feel like a third class citizen.”

“Now ya know how I’ve felt growin’ up in the Court,” Porthos chuckled and observed the reunion between Treville and their youngest.

“Seeing you standing here in front of me,” Treville’s gruff voice came out a tad wobbly, “makes me wish I never called off our search for you.” Then it was his turn to hug the Gascon. “Since no one’s bothered to ask you yet,” Treville’s eyes narrowed on the bemused eyes of the lad, “I will.” Glancing over at Athos, he noted his lieutenant shake his head back at him. “Do you recognize any of us or your surroundings?” Treville waived his hand about, indicating the entire garrison and the other soldiers milling about.

“Flashes of memories here or there in my dreams, nothing more.” D’Artagnan felt badly that he couldn’t remember this man nor all the other Musketeers gathered round who waited to greet him. Helplessly d’Artagnan looked to Athos for support.

Noticing how his fellow brothers were forming a circle around the pup, Athos knew that d'Artagnan was feeling smothered by all the attention being lavished on him. “I believe d’Artagnan feels overwhelmed from all your felicitations,” Athos announced in a deep voice. “Give the lad time to adjust and then come see him later. Perhaps seeing faces other than mine might help jog the pup’s memories more.” He heard the quiet rumblings of the other Musketeers as they nodded their heads in understanding and slowly dispersed.

“First things first," Treville said. "Let’s get d’Artagnan to his room back in the barracks,” he ordered. “While you three see to that I have a trip to the palace to make. King Louis will be greatly pleased that his champion has returned, memories or not, and will want to see him I’m sure.”

“King?” d’Artagnan looked with wild eyes back at Athos again.

“Not until you feel up to it, d’Artagnan,” Athos said to calm his protégé who was starting to hyperventilate. His anxiety eased up when he noted Aramis whisper something in the lad’s ear, which seemed to do the trick, as Athos saw the panic on d’Artagnan’s face turn to one of amusement instead.

“Do not worry over the king, d’Artagnan,” Treville was sorry he had said anything at all about their monarch. “I’m sure His Majesty will understand you’re not quite up to snuff.”

“I would appreciate some time to myself after our journey to get here,” d’Artagnan thought on what the Musketeer called Aramis whispered to him. That the king was an overgrown pussycat where he was concerned and wouldn’t harm a hair on d’Artagnan’s head. He wasn't positive that was the truth and so d'Artagnan would be his own judge of that when he had an audience with King Louis.

“Porthos, why don’t you lead d’Artagnan to his room,” Athos urged before something else was said to upset their youngest.

“Come on, whelp,” Porthos clapped d’Artagnan on the back. He knew, like Aramis, that so far they were only mere names to the pup. The history that went with those names was something d’Artagnan had to remember on his own. Still Porthos couldn't resist a little prodding along and tapped the younger man’s head. “Ya gotta remember me,” he puffed out his chest. "I'm pretty unforgettable ya know." Hearing the pup's huff of laughter pleased Porthos since that's what he was aiming for. "That's okay, whelp. Maybe after you and I spar things will become clearer for you."

"What exactly will you and I be doing?" He could see this was going to be a huge drawback for him if everyone around expected d'Artagnan to pick up where he had left off.

"Hand ta hand's my specialty, boyo," Porthos poked d'Artagnan in the ribs. "It'll come back ta ya. No worries."

"Yeah... right," d'Artagnan snorted quietly. "No worries for you, you mean," he muttered under his breath as he followed the large Musketeer into the barracks. Being shown the place where he usually laid his head, d'Artagnan wasted no time in falling on it and going to sleep.

Watching how fast the kid flaked out, Porthos whistled softly. But their youngest was laying at odd angles and looked mighty uncomfortable so Porthos gently re-positioned d'Artagnan. Placing a blanket on top of the lad he tip toed out of the room.

++++

_Back down in the courtyard_

"All settled in?" Aramis tipped his hat back from his head and wiped at some sweat trickling down his face.

"Whelp's out of it," Porthos shook his head. "Never saw someone go to sleep that fast."

"It's been a trying time for our pup and a long week in getting back here," Athos caught the winces that passed between his two brothers.

"Care to fill us in on what happened to d'Artagnan?" Aramis folded his arms as he casually leaned against a wooden post.

"Come to my place after I've talked to Treville and I'll tell you both," Athos knew his tone was grim. But there was no sugarcoating what had happened at Madame LaVigne's home.

They were then all interrupted by the approach of another Musketeer who favored his right leg. Limping slightly, Gael stopped in front of Athos.

"How is he, Athos?" Gael never wanted to believe the lad was dead. D'Artagnan was too damn stubborn to die. Gael was delighted to know that he had been proven right.

Giving Gael a lopsided smile Athos said, "The Gascon's had better days. Why don't you join us for a glass of wine at my apartments in about an hour. I still have to report to the captain yet."

"Don't mind if I do," Gael glanced over toward the barracks where d'Artagnan lived. "You know he was never once out of my thoughts this entire time."

"Nor mine," Athos agreed. "That's why I didn't give Treville a choice when I left."

Chuckling Gael glanced at Porthos and Aramis, both men were trying to hide their amusement. "The story that the captain told the regiment was that word got back to him of d'Artagnan's location and that he sent you, Athos, out to see if it was true and if so to bring the lad back to us."

The surprise that registered across Athos' face caused nothing but more levity for his brothers as Porthos, Aramis and even Gael laughed.

"Why so amazed, mon frere?" Aramis teased. "Everyone knows you're Treville's favorite."

"And ya know," Porthos winked, "being the captin's favorite he wouldn't want ya ta get inta any trouble with the king."

Running a hand through his dusty hair, Athos smiled. "Bien," he nodded, "then this _favorite_ better go make his report."

As Athos disappeared through Captain Treville's doors, Aramis slapped Porthos on the back and glanced over his shoulder at Gael. "Why don't you help me pick out a good wine, Gael."

"Sounds like a damn fine plan to me," Gael limped along beside the other two Musketeers.

++++

_Captain Treville's office_

"Nom de Dieu!" Treville slammed his hands down on top of his desk. Athos had informed him of everything that happened to the poor lad and his stomach rolled just thinking over it all. "If it wouldn't cause d'Artagnan embarrassment, I'd personally visit this Madame's house myself to bring her up on charges of threatening the well-being of one of the king's finest Musketeers."

"I had the passing thought to turn her in to the locals but," Athos shrugged, "figured Celine would have paid them off to look the other way. I told her as much too." He walked around the room for something to occupy himself, stopping every now and then to study the logistic and typography maps on the walls. "I will tell you though that she turned deathly white when I informed her that not only was I a Musketeer but so was d'Artagnan."

Hearing Athos' words, the only thing concerning Treville was d'Artagnan's health. "Will he be all right, Athos?"

"I doubt d'Artagnan will get over what Celine had done to him for quite awhile if at all," Athos' hands tightened on the rim of his hat he held between both hands. "I just want the pup to remember who _he_ is and who and what we are to him."

"I'll stall the king for as long as possible," Treville said. "He doesn't need to know the intimate details of what transpired when we all thought d'Artagnan lost to us."

"Porthos told us that d'Artagnan went out like a light so I doubt any of us will be seeing him until dinnertime." Since it was warm, Treville's doors were open and Athos wandered out to the balcony. Leaning over it he looked around the courtyard and did a doubletake. Motioning for the captain to join him, Athos pointed down to the courtyard. "Or I could be wrong." They both could see the lad sitting on one of the benches watching the other soldiers at work.

Placing a hand on his lieutenant's back, Treville patted Athos on the back. "Go on. Take care of him."

"I'll try," Athos snorted. "I haven't exactly done a stellar job of it so far."

++++

_Courtyard_

It wasn't long after Porthos had left d'Artagnan that he blinked his eyes open again. He had felt so exhausted when he had first laid down, going to sleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. His slumber didn't last very long though when d'Artagnan found himself waking up shortly after, as sleep apparently was eluding him. He was thinking so hard that d'Artagnan nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a light touch to his shoulder.

Seeing the pup's reaction, Athos' lips tightened. That could have gone better if he had been thinking properly. "Apologies, d'Artagnan. I did not mean to startle you so," his eyes narrowed on the younger man. "Especially when I thought you to be asleep."

"Couldn't," d'Artagnan grimaced, "sleep that is." Once more he turned his face toward the other Musketeers working out. "Watching them for a moment made me think of something."

"Which was?" Athos held his breath, praying it was a memory shaking free.

"About you actually," d'Artagnan said. "I was furious with you. I wanted to kill you for some wrong that I thought you had done to me."

"Dieu!" Athos turned away from the lad for a moment. Of all the things d'Artagnan had to remember it had to be that.

"Athos," d'Artagnan wondered what he had said that caused the older man such distress.

"Tis a long story, d'Artagnan." Athos took the Gascon by the arm. "Come, by now Aramis and Porthos should have picked out a bottle of wine and are waiting for me at my home. Along with Gael."

"Who is he?"

"You and he were on a mission together when you both were attacked," Athos watched the play of emotions cross his youngest's face. "He was severely injured and it was where you acquired your own injury resulting in your current problem."

Walking beside Athos, d'Artagnan was lost in thought and then began to chuckle. His eyes danced with mirth when he turned to look at his companion. "Remember when I told you that I thought those names of Aramis, Porthos and Athos belonged to my pets and perhaps they were dogs?"

"Oui," Athos hoped the lad remembered something other than challenging himself to a duel."

"I wasn't far off the mark," d'Artagnan's shoulders shook. "Porthos reminds me of a large Weimaraner who when it stands can be taller than the average man."

"How come you to remember the name of a breed of dog and not us?" Athos was incensed.

"Haven't the faintest idea," d'Artagnan smirked. "But I'm not done yet so don't interrupt."

Bowing, Athos swept his arm outward. "Please do go on."

"You, mon ami," d'Artagnan stopped walking and gripped Athos' arm, "are a Bloodhound having a strong, tracking instinct," he clapped his hands together. "You have to admit you were the one that didn't give up and eventually found me."

Amusement played about Athos' lips. Pup had the right of it so far. "What of Aramis or dare I ask?"

"Ha ha ha! I have the feeling that a Poodle and Aramis have a lot in common." Hearing the sudden burst of laughter coming from Athos, d'Artagnan was confronted with a pair of dancing blue eyes.

Wiping tears from his face, Athos had a hard time containing his amusement. Aramis... a _Poodle_ , oh how the mighty have fallen." Placing an arm around the lad's shoulder, Athos pulled d'Artagnan closer. "Later, much later, pup, I want you to tell that to both of them."

"Not if I'm risking another knock to my skull," d'Artagnan fired back.

"They'd have to go through me first," Athos said while steering the Gascon toward his apartments. "A _Poodle_ ," Athos chuckled. "I'll have to remember to tell Treville that one."

There was something else that had been bothering d'Artagnan and he stopped and faced the other man to ask him another question. "Athos, why don't I use my first name?" d'Artagnan stared at the older Musketeer oddly. "On our journey back here you kept calling me by my last name and so have the others since our arrival back."

"After you arrived here, you made it a point to let us know you didn't care for your first name and told us _d'Artagnan_ suited you better," Athos smiled at his youngest' still puzzled features. "Plus it was a way to honor your pere."

"My papa and maman," d'Artagnan spoke almost reverently. "You would think I could at least remember them and the years growing up in Lupiac."

"Time, d'Artagnan, all in good time," Athos' eyes crinkled up in the corners as he worked his mouth into a smile for the lad. Ruffling his pup's hair, Athos nudged d'Artagnan to continue on their way. "When we get to my home I have something of yours that I think you'll be wanting back.

"How about giving _back_ my memories," d'Artagnan quipped, earning a light squeeze to the back of his neck.

"What is lost will return," Athos eyes hardened with determination. "All your brothers will make sure of it."

It surprised d'Artagnan how many people knew him and took time out to welcome him back home as they passed several businesses on their way. One in particular was the local bakery. An elderly woman came running out to kiss him on the cheek, leaving a trace of flour on his face and a box of pastries in his hand.

Aside from the Gascon's surprise, the flour on the lad's face made Athos chuckle all the more. Removing his neck scarf he wiped the flour away. "I must remember to wash this later. It's been used for everything lately aside from what it was designed for." He glanced at the box dangling from d'Artagnan's fingers. "That's probably your favorite cherry turnovers in there." Hearing the the young man sigh again, Athos frowned as his eyes skimmed over the trim figure. "Let it go for now, mon frere, whatever it is."

"Seeing and hearing how everyone I've come into contact with since returning appears to have missed me," d'Artagnan swiped at his watery eyes, "makes me want to remember so damn bad!" He shook off Athos' comforting hand on his back. He remained silent from that point on until they took the street where Athos lived.

++++

 _Translation:_  
_Nom de Dieu!_ \- God damn it!

I tried looking up dog breeds around 16th or 17th century France and the German Weimaraner, Bloodhound and Poodle all existed back then if not earlier. I couldn't resist putting a name of a breed to each of the inseparables.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See note at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Same day, late morning - Athos' apartments_

Having the rest of the day to themselves, Athos and his protégé entered his apartments to find Aramis filling five glasses with Anjou wine.

"And whom did you pilfer the wine from," Athos' eyebrow quirked upward, his lips twitching in amusement. Seeing Aramis wink at Porthos had Athos thinking he directed his question to the wrong man.

Grinning, Aramis held up his own glass. "I know someone."

"Don't you always?" Athos wrly remarked. "Is it indelicate of me to ask if this _someone_ was of the female persuasion?"

"Oh most indelicate of you," Aramis laughed. "You could say I used my considerable charms to make my friend part with this most excellent vintage," he raised a brow of his own toward d'Artagnan who appeared to be confused at their lighthearted banter. "Come, mes freres," Aramis announced happily, "let us now drink to d'Artagnan's homecoming."

Blushing at all the attention he garnered, d'Artagnan accepted the proffered drink from Porthos' hand. "My thanks to all of you for the warm reception," he ducked his head shyly, his long hair dangled covering half his face. Daring to look at them again, d'Artagnan's eyes were moist with his emotions. "Tis my hope that I will eventually remember all of you more fully."

"We've got lots of time for that, kid," Porthos gruffly said, leaning over to ruffle the whelp's hair and laughing when d'Artagnan shuffled out of reach. Something that was instinctive though the lad didn't know that.

Turning curious eyes on the fifth Musketeer in their midst, d'Artagnan studied him closely and pointed a finger at him. "I know you."

A smile splitting his craggy face, Gael was pleased. "We were on a mission together and were coming back from Navarre when both of us ended up getting bushwhacked, sustaining serious injuries in the process. Though for my part I was unconscious and didn't know what had happened to you until we received Athos' letter informing us of your head wound and subsequent amnesia."

Nodding, d'Artagnan glanced over at Athos. "So I've been told. But you appear to be fine now, is that so?"

"I was shot in my right leg and lost a goodly amount of blood but I yet live to fight another day," Gael tapped his aching limb. "Tis mending well."

"I'm glad for that," d'Artagnan smiled at the older Musketeer.

Shortly, all the men sat down together around an old oakwood table.

"Aramis, I had to tell the pup a few minor things already but even so the few tidbits I threw d'Artagnan hadn't help very much," Athos admitted. "Though there was one incident that unfortunately stood out." He could see in Porthos' and Aramis' eyes that his brothers knew exactly what that event entailed.

"Had ta remember that one did he?" Porthos looked at the whelp fondly. "Ya remember that ya helped Mis and me prove Athos' innocence?"

"Are you referring upon my memory of wanting to kill him?" Seeing Porthos nod, d'Artagnan shook his head. "Non, just the part about being extremely mad at Athos and wanting revenge."

Staring downed into his glass, Porthos frowned.

Pursing his lips, while Aramis nursed his drink, he observed their youngest cautiously. "Perhaps we could discuss some of the lad's more adventurous exploits to see what happens."

"Ya mean some of the scrapes our whelp's gottin' inta?" Porthos snorted. If the lad still didn't remember much, Porthos was enjoying his wine at least.

"That too, mon frere," Aramis smirked.

"Oh do we have some stories ta share then," Porthos chuckled, sliding the whelp a sly glance.

For his part, Athos sat back and was going to listen to this interesting exchange when he remembered something of utmost importance. "Hold that thought, Porthos." He immediately got up from the table and went into his bedroom where a large cedar chest rested in one corner. Lifting the heavy lid up, Athos retrieved the object and went to sit back down beside d'Artagnan. Knowing all eyes were on him at the moment, Athos clutched the item closely to his chest before holding it out to the lad. "Take it, tis yours, d'Artagnan."

This must be what Athos had mentioned earlier about having something for him. Looking at it from all angles d'Artagnan traced the fleur-de-lis with a long finger. The leather pauldron's intricate design was the first thing to bring back a happy memory. "I won this in a sword fight against an ugly man."

" _Ugly_ don't even begin ta cover what that man was," Porthos growled. "One of the most cruelest individuals ta walk this earth."

"He had no conscience whatsoever and cared not who he hurt," Athos added, his eyes never strayed from the young Gascon's.

Tilting his head to the side, d'Artagnan closed his eyes thinking hard on the image in his mind of a harsh man about the size of Porthos. "Labarge," he whispered.

Clapping his hands, Aramis then downed another glass of wine. "That's when you earned that pauldron you're cradling and became our king's champion."

"Lad, that was a time none of us will ever forget," Gael added. "You defended Captain Treville that day and won prestige for the entire regiment in the process."

"What else have I done?" d'Artagnan studied each man's amused expression. "Perhaps that was a loaded question and I'm better off not knowing for now."

"What's the fun in that?" Porthos reached for the bottle of wine to refill his glass.

"We should only tell our youngest a few stories," Aramis reminded them all. "He really is better off trying to remember all on his own."

"Gee, there are soooo many ta pick from," Porthos rolled his eyes. "Hard ta tell where ta start."

"Good or bad?" d'Artagnan was afraid to find out by the way they were all acting.

"Ah," Athos smiled kindly at his protégé, "that would depend on whom you were with at the time."

"Not comforting, Athos," d'Artagnan pouted, earning much laughter from the other men.

"If you promise to sit there like a good petit Musketeer and don't interrupt," Aramis grinned at the darkening scowl the pup was sending his way, "we'll tell you several things you were involved in."

Raising a hand in an _after you_ gesture, d'Artagnan waited for Aramis to continue.

"There was an incident when you thought to rescue Serge from the old man's smoking kitchen," Aramis shook his head at the image that played in his mind. "Nearly burnt your hands in the process, d'Artagnan. You couldn't see even two feet in front of you the smoke was that thick but still you did your best to find Serge. That's when you accidentally touched the hot stove," he whistled through his teeth. "Took some time to treat those burns too."

"Yeah," Porthos chortled, "and the whelp came out blacker than the ace of spades," his eyes danced in amusement. "I don't know who was blacker, the kid or Serge."

Seeing a curious look cross the Gascon's face, Athos explained further. "Serge is a retired Musketeer and is now employed as the garrison's cook."

Nodding his head in acknowledgement, d'Artagnan continued to listen on.

"How about that time Treville nearly blew a blood vessel when d'Artagnan here tried his balancing act on top of the balcony roof," Gael looked over the rim of his wine glass and caught the lad's stunned face.

"I thought the captain was going to kick d'Artagnan out of the garrison," Athos snorted. "Treville shouted at the pup that if d'Artagnan wanted to join a circus he believed the troupe was last located in Calais."

"I remembered an incident when our young one went to deliver a simple missive and came back part of a gypsy caravan," Aramis chuckled. "The old woman in charge of that band didn't want to let d'Artagnan go," he shrugged, "alas, we couldn't let her adopt you since we already had."

Starting to open his mouth in protest, thinking they were all exaggerating things, d'Artagnan noted Aramis raise a solitary finger in his direction shaking it back and forth in warning. So d'Artagnan clamped his mouth shut tight and seethed quietly.

"Oy!" Porthos cried out. "There was that time when the whelp and I went ta The Wren, just the two of us."

Moaning, Athos rested his chin on a hand. "Don't remind me," he muttered with a sideways look at the silent Gascon. The lad appeared to sink deeper into his seat with each story that unfolded.

"Somehow d'Artagnan managed ta cause a riot by simply tryin' ta help the barmaid out of a tricky situation with a patron," Porthos shook his head sadly.

"You both came back looking worse for wear,"Aramis refilled his glass. "Torn and bloody clothes, cuts, bruises and in the lad's case," he shot the pup an annoyed look, "a mild concussion to boot."

"Not our finest hour," Porthos admitted.

"Honestly," d'Artagnan finally broke in, "you can't get me to believe all that rot happened surely!"

"There is a difference between listening and waiting for your turn to speak," Aramis sternly told the younger man.

"Is any of this helping you, lad?" Gael noticed that d'Artagnan appeared ready to bolt for the door.

" _Helping_ embarrass me you mean," d'Artagnan grunted sourly. "Athos, really." he rolled his eyes. "How about something a tad more helpful that doesn't involve my apparent shortcomings."

"Mmmmm," Aramis thought upon it. "I do remember when you protected Their Majesties when a few malcontents decided a little side trip to the palace was in order."

"What did I do?" d'Artagnan held his breath, hoping he'd hear something that showed him in a good light.

"Oh you saved the day but in doing so poor King Louis got in the way of your right hook and ended up as part of the hors d'oeuvres served on the buffet table," Aramis covered his mouth to hold back the mirth threatening to break free.

Hiding his face in his hands, d'Artagnan blushed red to the roots of his hair. "I don't think I want to hear anything further," he mumbled into his hands. Feeling Athos gently carding his fingers through his hair, d'Artagnan peeked out between his hands. "Does it get worse?"

Whispering in the lad's reddened ear, Athos said, "Your escapades are mere child's play as to what Aramis, Porthos and I have gotten ourselves entangled in."

Relieved to know it's not always just him, d'Artagnan snorted. "Called on the carpet, eh?"

"Tis why our captain's been fast losing his hair," Athos quipped.

"Captain's called us more than once his _trials and tribulations_ ," Aramis was happy to hear the lad laugh at that.

" _Inseparables_ ," d'Artagnan let the word roll off his tongue. "That's what you three are called," he glanced over at Gael's pleased face. "It just came to me."

"As will many other things I'm sure," Athos filled d'Artagnan's empty glass.

Not finished regaling d'Artagnan with tales of his time in Paris, Gael said, "How about when the lad here went to water the horses and ended up dunking Aramis in the horse trough, chapeau and all," he chuckled as Aramis pulled a face.

"Must you?" Aramis was now sorry he had started this discussion.

"How did I manage to do that?" d'Artagnan's eyes lingered on Porthos because the larger man's shoulders were shaking.

"No one ta blame for that mess but Mis 'emself," Porthos raised his glass at Aramis' obvious embarrassment. "You, whelp, were just unfortunately in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Know, d'Artagnan," Athos tapped the lad's hand to get his attention, "you were innocent in the whole soggy affair."

"Just waterin' the horses and Monsieur _Look at Me I'm Perfect_ Aramis sauntered toward a lovely Mademoiselle," Porthos sipped his wine slowly. "While he preened before her like a pretty peacock displaying its feathers, Mis failed ta see where he was plantin' his feet..."

"And ended up face first in the trough soaked to the skin," Athos' blue eyes twinkled at his amused protégé and Aramis' sheepish grin.

"His chapeau," Porthos winked at the whelp, "was beyond saving at that point. Had ta go and buy a new one he did."

"Mes freres," Aramis stood up, "I believe we've wearied our pup long enough."

"Ya mean _you've_ had enough," Porthos wide grin spread across his face, watching the marksman go to retrieve his chapeau and slap it on his head.

Feeling this would be a good time to change the subject, d'Artagnan stood up too. "Perhaps one of you could spare time to do some sword work with me on the morrow."

"You sure you're up to this?" Athos was only concerned that d'Artagnan not push himself too hard.

"I feel that returning to normalcy is what's called for if I am to regain the knowledge I've forgotten."

"Always said he was the brightest of the lot of us," Porthos commented.

"I will gladly work with you, pup," Athos gripped d'Artagnan's shoulder.

"Then at another time we'll try to work with muskets," Aramis added pleasantly. Seeing a question in the younger man's gaze he added, "Tis my specialty and this time," he glared at Porthos, "I doubt my chapeau will be in jeopardy."

Wanting to get a little of his own back at Aramis, d'Artagnan teased the man. "You never know, it could accidentally get shot up."

Dark eyes narrowed on the Gascon, trying to figure out if the pup jested or was serious. "Perhaps I'll leave it at my apartment until after we're done," Aramis crossed his arms and tapped his foot.

"Tis probably for the best," Athos agreed, keeping a straight face.

"I don't know about that," Porthos disagreed. "If Mis' chapeau gets full of holes it'd be one way of keepin' his head cooled off."

Reading a double meaning into Porthos' remark, Aramis glared at his brother. About to take Porthos to task, Aramis heard d'Artagnan quietly snickering and decided it was worth being the brunt of a few bad jokes to hear that sound again.

"This has been a most entertaining time," Gael's sincere smile encompassed all the men. "I've enjoyed the wine and the company but I think I'm going to rest my leg before Doctor Devereaux finds out I've not been listening to his dictates."

"I will visit with you at another time, Gael," d'Artagnan held out his hand for the other to take.

"I'll look forward to it." Limping out the door, Gael stopped and turned around. "Au revoir, mon amis."

"He seems a good man," d'Artagnan murmured.

"One of the best," Athos quietly agreed.

Something still bothered d'Artagnan greatly and he prayed that it was all said in jest. "Athos," d'Artagnan looked at him with troubled eyes, "did I truly punch King Louis?"

++++

_Notes_

The quote: _There is a difference between listening and waiting for your turn to speak_ is from Simon Sinek who is an author and motivational speaker.


	11. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another story bites the dust and I hope you all have enjoyed this d'Art in distress tale along with me.
> 
> Until next time, mon amis.
> 
> ++++

_Next day, early morning - Musketeer courtyard_

They didn't want an audience but that was exactly what they got as other Musketeers gathered in different parts of the courtyard to watch the display. Athos circled around d'Artagnan waiting for his protégé to make the first move.

Waiting for Athos to make the first move also, d'Artagnan mirrored the older Musketeer's movements until he realized that Athos was probably thinking the exact same thing. Then he gave the other man a lopsided grin. "We will never get anywhere at this rate." Hearing laughter all around them, d'Artagnan turned and bowed to their audience.

"Are ya gonna ask Athos ta dance or what?" shouted Porthos from his perch on a nearby bench. Keeping him company was Aramis as well pretending to be cleaning his weapons.

Rene, Gael, Joubert, to just name a few, were also witnesses to the spectacle. They all knew the inseparables were hoping d'Artagnan hadn't lost his technique along with his memories.

++++

Seeing that a good portion of his men had stopped their own activities to watch the sparring in progress, Treville decided he may as well join them too but decided to observe the match from his balcony. He didn't want to intimidate the lad anymore then d'Artagnan already was. Leaning casually over the railings, Treville rubbed his chin while gazing down into the courtyard.

++++

"Ignore them all, d'Artagnan," Athos spoke softly seeing that his pup was trying hard not to appear nervous. "They'll only distract you. So concentrate solely on me."

"Easy to say when we have an audience of hyenas," d'Artagnan gripped the pommel of his rapier tightly.

"I'll have to tell Aramis and Porthos what you called them later," Athos smirked. "Though it is an apt description," he quipped lightly. "Now, young one... en garde!"

Light on his feet and excellent at changing direction, d'Artagnan truly appeared like a dancer as his footwork kept Athos on the alert while he circled around the finest swordsman in all of France. But knowing he could keep his opponent at bay for only so long, d'Artagnan finally made the first move. Attacking Athos with a thrust of his right sword arm, d'Artagnan was pleased that it felt so natural and right to him. Apparently there were some things one instinctively remembered.

When Athos parried he blocked the Gascon's blade away from himself easily but was excited to see the old d'Artagnan emerge from its shell. After a successful parry, Athos executed a perfect reposte thus putting d'Artagnan on the defensive as his protégé countered.

Without having to think about it, d'Artagnan began his attack. Aiming for the left side of Athos' torso. When Athos moved to the left to parry, d'Artagnan disengaged and finished his attack on the right side of the other man's torso instead.

In turn, Athos performed a circle parry by twisting his sword in a circle and catching d'Artagnan's blade tip to deflect it away from his own body.

Loud clapping and calling out of their names carried over to the two combatants who acknowledged the ever increasing crowd of onlookers with a wave of their hands.

“Athos!” Aramis yelled out. “I do believe young d’Artagnan’s skills are unaffected by his amnesia!”

“Ya gonna risk gettin’ skewered out there, Athos!” Porthos hollered. “We don’t need another casualty in our ranks!”

“Your faith in my abilities overwhelms me,” Athos tone was dry as dust, earning a quiet chuckle from d’Artagnan. Tilting his head toward the lad, Athos raised his rapier in a salute. “I think tis a draw as we appear equally matched,” he breathed heavily. “Do you not think so?”

“Oui,” d’Artagnan stepped forward to grip Athos’ forearm when, without warning, his legs wouldn’t support his weight and he crumbled to the ground in a heap. He heard shouts of his name being called out but couldn’t draw the energy to respond to them. Feeling Athos carefully lifting his body, d’Artagnan’s head lolled to the side to rest against Athos’ chest.

“Water!” Athos bellowed. Bending his head over the pup's he cradled d’Artagnan’s cheek in one hand while his thumb rubbed up and down the lad’s cold skin. “Can you hear me?”

Feebly nodding his head in response to the question, d’Artagnan moaned softly. He could hear Athos’ heart beating loudly in d’Artagnan’s ear. When a tin cup full of cool water was thrust at him, he drank greedily from it.

“Easy does it, boyo,” Porthos growled low. “Ain’t gonna do ya much good if you throw it up.”

"Petit frere," Aramis murmured, concern laced his voice, "what have you done this time, eh?" He crouched down beside Athos and his worried gaze took in d'Artagnan's pale features.

Trying to keep his eyes opened proved harder than d'Artagnan thought as he was assailed with dizzyness. So he kept them closed. "If you could stop... the world from revolving... around me... Aramis, perhaps I will have... an answer for you."

"What the deuce happened down here?" Treville had wasted no time getting down to the courtyard as soon as he saw d'Artagnan fall. A passing thought went through his mind that perhaps Athos had unintentionally hurt the lad somehow.

"We don't exactly know, sir," Gael answered. "Once they finished sparring d'Artagnan went down like a ton of bricks."

Leaning over Athos' shoulder, Treville braced one arm against his lieutenant's back. "Has d'Artagnan said anything?"

"Pup's responded to something Aramis asked him and that's all so far," Athos' lips thinned into a firm line while cradling his protégé's head against his chest.

Aramis had taken his blue sash off and went to get a bucket of water to dip it in. When he returned, Aramis handed it off to Athos. "This may help the lad feel better."

Holding the cool piece of material against the young Gascon's forehead, Athos rested his chin on top of the lad's head.

Slowly d'Artagnan cracked open one eyelid at a time. Moving his head slightly to the right he tilted it up and caught the haggard looking face of his mentor. For d'Artagnan remembered in that moment what Athos meant to him. "You have all the appearance... of coming off a... drinking binge, mon frere."

More than taken aback at the pup's insolent words, Athos tried to work his mouth to form a suitable reply. "If by that you mean I look ill then you would be correct," he snapped.

"Hang on a minute," Porthos peered down into the whelp's face. "If ya can't remember much, how come ya know Athos' drinking habits?"

"Porthos makes a good point for once," Aramis said and then found himself stumbling forward, nearly toppling over d'Artagnan from Porthos' punch to his back. He guessed Porthos wasn't amused at his small jest. Neither did Athos appreciate Aramis nearly falling on top of their youngest, as their leader glared up at him while still holding the cold compress against d'Artagnan's forehead.

"While sparring," d'Artagnan offered, "stuff started coming back to me." He closed his eyes once more until the world righted itself. To tell the truth, d'Artagnan was quite comfortable where he was and didn't want to move anytime soon. Feeling cherished, after all he had been through, d'Artagnan didn't want it to end. "Too much actually to take in all at once."

"Do ya remember any of us yet, kid?" After posing his question, Porthos was angrily pushed from behind by Aramis. "What cha do that fer?"

Removing his chapeau, Aramis swatted it at Porthos' bare head. "Can't you see the lad's not up to playing twenty questions?"

"Merde!" Porthos swore. "I ain't askin' _twenty_... just _one_!" Porthos shook a fist at Aramis. "D'Art's startin' ta remember things. If we don't keep jabberin' away at 'em he may forget 'em all and then where will we be?"

Crossing his arms, Aramis just gazed at his friend not having a concrete answer for Porthos and he hated when that happened. He cast his eyes on d'Artagnan who tugged on Athos' doublet hard enough to jerk the older Musketeer's head close to the Gascon's lips. Not being able to catch what was being said, Aramis observed d'Artagnan whisper something into Athos' ear.

"If everyone would kindly disperse," Athos' blue eyes darkened to nearly black while watching the soldiers gathered around them. "Give d'Artagnan some breathing room, parbleu!"

"You're not helping my head any, Athos," d'Artagnan complained when his mentor shouted out.

"And you, Monsieur _Everything Happens to Me_ d'Artagnan," Athos' eyes reflected the fondness he had for his protégé despite his tone to the contrary, "are going to put me into an early grave yet," Athos countered, ducking when a chapeau with a long dangling feather attacked his head. "May I ask what called for that, Aramis?" his tone glacial.

"How d'Artagnan's survived this long with brothers such as us is truly a miracle in itself," Aramis huffed, rolling his brown eyes.

"I'd like to try to stand," d'Artagnan interrupted before a fistfight broke out. He found that he could keep his eyes completely open without threat of becoming dizzy again. So as Athos supported his body, d'Artagnan was able to stand up without worry that his legs would give way. "So far so good," Athos had a death grip on d'Artagnan's arms making it impossible for him to move anywhere. "You can let me go now."

"Athos," Aramis spoke sharply to the older Musketeer, not sure if his brother had heard the lad.

"What if you collapse on me again, d'Artagnan?" Athos controlled his shaky voice as best he could. He didn't think his heart could take anything further.

"Then I'll just get right back up again," d'Artagnan returned with a tired grin. When Athos finally released his hold, d'Artagnan was able to walk without tilting sideways.

Making it as far as the closest bench, d'Artagnan sat down. If he had glanced behind him, d'Artagnan would have laughed at the trail of Musketeers who followed in his wake. Captain Treville sat down opposite him with growing concern. "I'm fine, Captain," d'Artagnan tried to reassure his commander.

"Where have I heard that before," Treville snorted with an eye roll thrown in for good measure.

"From me more than likely," dArtagnan remembered that for a fact.

"Truthfully, you four always played down your injuries to me," Treville huffed. "But you are the worst liar of the lot, young man."

"Nice to know I excel at something other than sword work," d'Artagnan grinned cheekily. As he was surrounded once more by the inseparables, d'Artagnan figured he'd show them that most of his memories had returned in full force.

"Porthos, how's Flea been treating you? Kicked you out of her bed lately, mmmmm?" Noting the completely stunned face his older brother turned on him, d'Artagnan kept going. "And Aramis, your latest lady love's name is Charlotte I believe. Has her husband returned from his travels yet?"

Turning red as a beet, Aramis heard quiet snorts from Porthos, Athos and even the captain at the lad's unexpected words. "You had to just throw it out there like that?" He was irritated at the shrug of their youngest's slim shoulders.

Shifting his gaze back to his mentor's, d'Artagnan's amused expression wasn't lost on Athos. "Your tab's growing larger and larger with each visit you make to The Wren, Athos," d'Artagnan's eyes twinkled merrily. "I thought you were cutting back."

All eyes now focused on Athos' sheepish face as he squirmed where he stood. "One does not speak of another's financial woes in public, pup," he muttered.

"You're the Comte de la _bloody_ Fere," d'Artagnan held back from rolling his eyes at this point. "We all know you have no financial woes to worry upon."

"Gents," Treville stepped in, "I think d'Artagnan's just proved a valuable lesson to all of you."

"What would that be, sir," Athos grumbled.

"When you pull the tail of a tiger," Treville's eyes gleamed with amusement, "it will eventually go for your jugular." Seeing the surprised looks he got from the inseparables, Treville chuckled. "Gael told me how you all filled the poor lad's head full of tales yesterday that shocked d'Artagnan so." Giving his soldiers a stern look, Treville stood up to pace back and forth in front of each of them. "Tis it any wonder the lad wants a small measure of his own back?" Glancing over at the younger man, Treville raised a hand. "Well played, son."

"Sir," d'Artagnan found his voice again, "was that part about me hitting King Louis the truth? For it has bothered me mightily ever since being told of it."

Realizing not all of the lad's memories were going to come back at once, Treville hated to be the one to confirm d'Artagnan's question. "Unfortunately that was the case, lad." Noting the crestfallen face on the Gascon, he decided to give him the full story which Treville knew with a certainty was left out when told to their youngest.

"What your brothers conveniently left out was that after Louis failed to duck from your powerful swing, Louis' feet flew out from underneath him making our monarch bounce into Porthos' and Aramis' backs," Treville explained. "They were stationed close by, guarding the king. It was then that Louis landed on top of the buffet table along with the hors d'oeuvres," Treville's snuff of laughter brought about an interesting reaction from Aramis and Porthos. Both Musketeers looked like they wanted to sink into the ground.

"So all in all, d'Artagnan," Athos gave his protégé a quick wink, "Your _right hook_ was a small thing in comparison."

"My thanks, Captain," d'Artagnan released a breath he had been holding in. "I feel greatly relieved."

Patting the young Gascon's shoulder, Treville was happy to have eased d'Artagnan's worry on that score. "Least I could do but now that the subject of King Louis had come up," he shot the lad a sharp look, "do you feel up to seeing him?"

"I'm pretty confident that what memories I'm sketchy on will come back to me shortly," d'Artagnan glanced over at Athos' standing silently beside his brothers. "Funny that all it took was some vigorous swordplay to loosen everything up."

"Beats fallin' on that Gascon 'ead of yours ta shake 'em up," Porthos quipped.

"If only I had known that was all it would have taken," Athos shook his head sorrowfully. "We could have practiced dueling on our way back to Paris."

"And hindsight is twenty twenty so they say," Aramis reminded his friend.

"Aramis," d'Artagnan walked towards him at a leisurely pace, "care to practice with muskets before I pay His Majesty a visit?" He didn't miss the frown marring the handsome Musketeer's face as Aramis touched his chapeau. "I promise not to fill your chapeau full of holes," he gently teased.

Throwing a companionable arm across the pup's shoulders, Aramis grinned. "I'm going to keep it at home just in case your aim proves slightly off."

"Hey!" Porthos walked on d'Artagnan's other side. "What about hand ta hand with me?"

"Oh paaaalease," Aramis drawled out, "What none of us want to see at this point is you dropping d'Artagnan on his head and causing further brain trauma."

"Are ya sayin' I'm careless?" Porthos got into Aramis' face.

Letting his two brothers argue, d'Artagnan sidled over to Athos' side. "I think things are back to normal."

Smiling back into the Gascon's shining eyes, Athos slowly nodded in agreement as the two of them left Aramis and Porthos at each others throats. Sounds of their brother's arguing could still be heard as Athos and d'Artagnan decided to enter the canteen.

The End


End file.
